Last Call at the Marigold
The premise
The Marigold is the warmest speakeasy in a river city that swears it's dry, and tonight it has four hours to live. A nervy regular whispers that federal agents come at two o'clock — and they only know where to knock because a friend told them. You pour the drinks everyone in this room confides over. Find the rat before last call.
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How it opens
The Marigold breathes gin and cigarette smoke and the low gold of a piano finding its key. You wipe a glass that's already clean, because that's what your hands do while your eyes work the room. Vera's up on the little stage in a silver fur she couldn't have bought last week. Augie's at the end of the bar buying rounds he can't usually afford, loud about it. In the corner the cop nurses the free rye he never pays for and watches everyone. Margo drifts the floor like it's her own front parlor, because it is. Then Petey Sloane folds onto a stool closer than he needs to be, and his voice comes out under the music, fast and low. "Feds are coming, Sid. …
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