Violet Crime — Susan Brassfield Cogan

San Francisco, 1935

Imagine an insinuating saxophone and you will know what it was like to meet Violet Harris. A tight dress wrapped around her like a wet leaf in autumn. My own dress was silk and hers, who knows, maybe rayon, but she filled it out with a tawdry sensuality that turned men's heads.

The air was full of blue smoke and the band wasn't very good but that saxophone cut through the murky air like a warm finger through molasses. Violet knew about a man who robbed a bank. I was at the Red Toy Nightclub to find her.