Whatever Happened to Yvonne LeDoux-Pt 6

1

Can You Smooth That Out For Me A Little?

Lieutenant Cordell wasn’t happy to see me.

“I never should’ve allowed you to operate in the city of Los Angeles , with that Mickey Mouse license you flashed at me, so fast I could barely see what was on it.  You say you’re from Boston?  What the hell are you doing here?”

Either Cordell had an incredibly short memory or else he was bullying me for the sake of it.

“Sorry I didn’t bring my passport,” I said, arrogantly.  “I kind of had the idea that we were all part of the same country.”

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Whatever Happened To Yvonne LeDoux? Part 1

My series of stories here, entitled Whatever Happened to Yvonne LeDoux? are derived from a 1950 noir, starring Charles McGraw as Lieutenant Jim Cordell, Adele Jergens as Mrs. Benny McBride (Yvonne LeDoux), William Talman as Dave Purvis, Douglas Fowleyas Benny McBride, Steve Brodie as Al Mapes, Don McGuire as Detective Danny Ryan, Don Haggerty as detective driving final pursuit car, James Flavin as Lieutenant Phillips, and Gene Evans as William ‘Ace’ Foster.  Directed by Richard Fleischer.

I allowed myself to imagine what might have happened to the woman who got away, after the robbery, and where she might be.

You might call it a sequel, like Rocky, Rocky2, etc.

Los Angeles 1952

The place was barely respectable.  When I walked in – it was about four pm – it looked haunted, old men in raincoats, pretty shabby, mostly bums.  One bright guy was busy with something under his coat, but I didn’t want to know.  There was a hefty woman near the front, who started  yelling at the stripper: “Take it off!  Take it all off.  Let’s see what you got, honey!”

Her comments were met with shouts of derision.  Someone called out: “Butch!”

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Whatever Happened to Yvonne LeDoux? Part 4

Joy

The address on the envelope was in the city, possibly Mapes’ last residence before his arrest and incarceration at San Quentin.  It wasn’t sealed, the flap tucked inside.  It was creased in the middle and folded in two, very neatly, and a short message was handwritten with one of those new fangled pens some guy in Argentina invented, name of Biro.  The ink was smudged on the thin writing paper, but I could just make out these words:

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The Chanteuse & The Derringer – Conclusion

Never Die Alone

She wasn’t really sure how long she’d stood motionless, with the derringer still in her hand.  A trail of smoke floated freely out the tip of the barrel, like a cigarette.  She noted it without seeing it – just a small piece of the scene of horror in front of her, Jimmy’s eyes in a long stare, as if he’d found something interesting on the ceiling.  A hole in his chest, though it was only the blood she could see, pooling and spreading, a stain she was responsible for.

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