It was rare to find a place where no one noticed a man wearing a trench coat in the middle of Summer, but that’s why Robert Blake liked this bar. The smell of fresh sawdust on the floor, the tactile sensation from the remnants of some hops & barley on the table, and — of course — the colorful customer base… who seemed to ignore him, a stranger in their mix. Blake didn’t make it to Chi-Town often, but he always made sure to go to Noonan’s Pub when he did.

Drinking from the brew in front of him, Blake was lost in recollections of the past few days and the horrors they contained. A rustling of motion made him instinctively react, dragging him back to the here-and-now. And there she was…

Just shy of six-foot, slender as a pole but stacked in all the right places. Traditional hourglass figure barely concealed by a slinky red dress. Blonde and beautiful. An obvious femme fatale type if ever there was one. Which was fine with Blake, he always had a soft spot for femme fatales.

“Buy me a drink,” she breathed.