The Last Dance

The door slammed shut as Sharon ran out the door and down the steps, her bobbed hair bouncing freely. Mark stood outside, leaning against his new tin Lizzie. His baggy striped knickers swished gently as he stepped forward to open the door for her.

"Hello, Sharon," Mark said.

"Hi, Mark," she greeted him in return. Giving him a quick once-over, her eyes lingered on his center-parted, patent-leather hair, slicked back with bug wash. "Your hair looks hotsie-totsie tonight!"

Mark grinned hugely. "Thanks!" he exclaimed, and gave her a smooch. The two got in the car and proceeded in talking about what they should do for the night. Mark suggested that they go to an audie or to the nearby drive-in restaurant to visit his carhop sister. Sharon found all these to be boring, though.

"Well, wouldn't it be the cat's meow to breeze in on Binky's party?" she asked, her eyes glittering with excitement. Binky was Sharon's friend, and a longtime rival of Al Capone. Mark agreed enthusiastically and they started off down the winding streets of Chicago, heading for the party.

Upon their arrival, Sharon dragged Mark out onto the dance floor to hoof. The floor was crowded with many dancers, mostly flappers. The scene was a confusion of brightly colored dresses: a vast array of yellows, reds, purples, and blues. Sitting around a few tables along the side of the dance floor was an assortment of Chicago fat cats, as Binky associated with a wealthy, if unscrupulous crowd. Sharon continued dancing for a long time, but after a while she tired. The only thing she enjoyed more than dancing was digging dirt with her shebas. So, she stopped and approached a small cluster of girls. The group was varied, composed of stuffy Janes and of some girls who looked rather blotto. They did have one thing in common, though, and that was the taste for gossip.

While Sharon talked with her bims, Mark walked over to a table and sat next to a good friend of his, Jay. Jay was wearing a pair of his pajamas under a raccoon coat. Most regarded him as a sad sack, he was rather handsome. A real sheik.

"Hullo, Mark," he offered as greeting.

"Hi, Jay."

"Did you know that Al Capone is going to breeze in tonight? That's what Binky told me," Jay informed Mark, his eyes a little wild.

"Horsefeathers! He wouldn't show up at the party of his rival. Binky's just talking bunk, Jay."

Jay shrugged, his mind already elsewhere. Mark rose and stepped back onto the dance floor, motioning for Sharon to join him for another dance. Sharon sauntered over to him, her short blue dress swinging around her hips, sequins sparkling in the bright light on the floor. He took her hands and led her to a small clearing, and they started swinging and moving to the ricky tick lickety-split.

The doors to the room burst open, and four goons, whom could only be associated with Scarface, ran in, waving their choppers around. A volley of bullets sprayed forth, eventually killing everyone there. Sharon and Mark lay on the floor, hands still clenched, in a broken heap. Binky sat back in his chair, chest littered with bullet holes, and arms spread wide in crucifixion.

The next day the newspapers told of how Binky and his gang had been murdered by an "unknown group of assassins" but everyone knew it was Scarface.

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