Runner-up 1

Carmen couldn’t call him Mr. Palmieri. She’d lose any respect he might have for her, which couldn’t be much to begin with. Paulie Palmieri? She’d never keep from laughing. What kind of lame-brain parents would name their kid Paulie Palmieri? Paulie wanna cracker? He bludgeoned a guy to death with a ball-peen hammer. Everybody called him ‘Paulie the Hammer’ after that. This was not a guy to toy with.

Palmieri glanced down at his ringing cellphone. He didn’t recognize the number. “Who the hell is this? And how did you get this number?”

“I’m the girl that got away. Blondie didn’t tell you?”

Palmieri couldn’t believe it. He squinted his cold calculating eyes as he considered how to play it. “I gotta give you credit, honey, Hans isn’t usually someone who could be carved up by a 20-dollar hooker in a 10-dollar dress.”

Carmen thought of a great comeback line, but this didn’t seem like the time for it. “Why don’t we play, ‘Let’s Make a Deal?’”

Palmieri spat out: “There’s only one deal. You’re dead.”

Carmen stepped further out onto the ledge, “Aw, if you’re not gonna play nice, you’re not gonna find out what a bad thing I’ve gone and done.”

Palmieri was beginning to wonder who this broad was. She certainly had guts. And she really wasn’t as scared as she should have been. “Let’s say for the moment I’m interested in what you have to say.”

The moment of truth.

“I wrote it all down. The Birds of Paradise. Las Vegas. The judge . . . your judge.”

“I suppose you’re gonna tell me you gave it to someone who’s gonna give it to the FBI if something happens to you. I saw that one. Bogart was great. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Carmen countered, “I got the idea of giving it to a judge from you.”

Carmen was starting to annoy him. Palmieri licked his lips as he contemplated how to knock this bird off her perch. “Any judge you ever met was stuffing bills in your g-string at Jumbo’s. And I got every drooling one of them on tape.”

Carmen had to laugh. It’d be some trick taping her imaginary judge. “It’s not like I spend my whole life at Jumbo’s. I get around.”

Palmieri figured this had gone on long enough. “I bet you do. Say I buy your little story. What exactly is it you want?”

“You mean besides my life back? Well, I’ve been a . . . 20-dollar hooker long enough. I’d like to move a little further up the food chain.”

“You wanna strip at a higher class club? I’ve seen your act. You’re no Candy Barr. But OK, I can do that.”

“And maybe a nice role in one of Bonner’s movies.”

Palmieri played along, “Sure, I can arrange that. I’ll be in L.A. tonight. Meet me at Jumbo’s at 8 o’clock.”

Carmen played her hole card. “I’ve got somewhere else in mind,” she told him and hung up. Then she dug through her purse and found the business card she kept for emergencies.

“Hauser here.”

Carmen began with, “Long time no see.”

Hauser had a phenomenal memory for voices. “Carmen?”

Carmen knew she needed some insurance. She didn’t know much about being out on bail, but she was pretty sure Palmieri wasn’t supposed to be taking little side trips to Cabo.

“You said to call if I ever got anything good.” Hauser started, “Well, I’m no longer -- “

But Carmen cut him off. “I’ve got a real jackpot for you.”

Aspiring screenwriter Nick Boone of Agoura Hills is a puzzle enthusiast and movie buff.