Noir: Where Angels Fear to Tread

Maryanne was in pain, her slender wrist in the death grip of her husband. _That_ wouldn't do. I strode back to her table.

With one hand, I grabbed _his_ wrist. With the other, I grabbed at his pinky finger and started to pull it away from her wrist. To Otellio's credit, he realized what the immediate future held for him and he released her.

I shoved the table out of the way, stepped in front of his chair and placed my foot on the edge of its seat, between his legs. I pushed. The chair slid back, caught on something and tipped backward.

I took Maryanne by the arm and we hurriedly made our way to the entrance.

"Get your coat," I instructed her.

"But...," she stammered.

"_Now._"

She went to the coat check. I looked around the club. The band had stopped. Otellio, holding the back of his head, was being helped up. Several of the staff were closing on me.

_So this is how I die._

I pulled my pistol, levelling it at anyone who approached me. Maryanne returned. I took her hand and we stepped through the door.