L.A. Noire: The Collected Stories by Rockstar Games

Author:Rockstar Games
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Short Stories
ISBN: 9780316200868
Publisher: Little, Brown & Company
Published: 2011-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

BETTY SHORT:

Why he was so—angry!

This was such a shock to me I did not ever—

comprehend—& then it was too late.

You would say She asked for it. The Black Dahlia—a slut…

She took $$$ from men, that makes her a slut—

Well I say a married woman is a slut too then—taking $$$ from a man except it is “blessed” by the church—hypocrites I hate you & wish that I could be revenged upon you from the grave especially those of you who have PROFITED FROM THE DAHLIA’S TERRIBLE FATE.

The Bone Doctor did appear to be a “gentleman” & not like most others. He did appear to be well-groomed & thoughtful. Waiting for me in his shiny black Packard sedan outside K.K.’s studio on Vicente Blvd. & when I crossed the street in my black patent-leather high heels worn without stockings having some difficulty with the damn paving stones he called to me Excuse me miss would you like a ride?—& I knew who he was (for K.K. had mentioned to me, this “Bone Doctor” who paid to see girls photographed nude & who had a particular interest in Norma Jeane) though not his name of course—& when I saw him, the glittery glasses like some politician or public man, the smile that was strained but polite, the thought came to me This one is well-to-do & can be trusted—& maybe the thought came to me This one is well-to-do & can be handled, by Betty Short.

For always in that first instant if you are female an instinct comes to you: can this one be handled, or no. & if no you must flee.

But if yes it will be worth your while to advance to him, if he beckons.

& what happened was: Dr. M. drove me back to the Buena Vista in the beautiful black Packard car & said very few words to me—asked where I lived & was I a “starlet”—& stared straight ahead through the windshield of the car—(which I took note was sparkling clean & clear & the white sunshine of Los Angeles in January made my eyes water it was so bright)—& he said only that he was a resident of Orange County & had inherited a—(I am not certain of these fancy words, which I might mis-remember)—an “orthopedic surgical practice” from his father; but was an artiste in his heart & hoped to retire early & pursue his desires in that direction.

The starched white shirt-collar & cuffs—the stubby hands but nails manicured & very clean—the pressed trousers & shiny shoes not scuffed or battered in the slightest—the third finger of the left hand with a just-perceptible paleness & impress where—(Betty Short had a sharp eye for such clues!)—a wedding band had been removed—all this I absorbed without seeming to be staring. My hands were clasped on my knees & my nails were dark-maroon polish—to match my dark-maroon lipstick—& my face powdered very white like (as K.K. would say part-sneering & part-admiring) a geisha. & I am wearing black

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