"Last month this dame strolls into my office, tells me she's looking for the mug that attacked her. Shows me the scratches on her arm and gives me six silver bullets. Says I might need to plug the bastard before the next full moon.
Nasty work, but business is business.
So I ask around. The boys downtown say it was an animal, some kind of bear or something. They laugh a little.
I talk to my pals on the corner. No one's saying anything. Nothing that makes sense anyway. Their faces go a little white and they laugh a little too hard.
Three weeks later and I still don't have answers. At least I get a paycheck when this is done.
Now she's back, says she has something else I need to see. First she gives me a sob story, then she starts screaming, doubling over. She looks straight at me, her eyes all yellow, and she's snarling. Her teeth look like they could tear out my throat. She rips open her top but all I see is the black fur and too much of the wrong things. My stomach churns.
Can't make a run for the door. Lucky I keep the .38 in my pocket.
Six silver bullets.
I've had this idea kicking around for a long time. Playing around with film noir lighting in this one. This is the first time I've ever done any processing to my image: desaturated, added some grain, played with brightness and contrast, then added a slight tint.