Answer with some bad noir prose

Alex K., you win.

He sat restlessly in his office. Again. He was always restless. Bills make a man restless. Unpaid bills make a man worry. But he wasn't thinking about bills this time. He was thinking about what she said. Was it true? Could it be true. He weighed up all the angles, and still couldn't figure it out. The broad turned his head like a airplane propeller and he didn't like it one bit. He was fighting against the truth though. He knew she was right, but he hated to admit it. He opened the drawer and poured a shot of sour, and threw it back. It didn't help any. She was till right, and it didn't matter how many shots he drank and how many luckies he smoked. It was the best thread evah...

The tile on his desk read: "Assistant Office Supplies Manager" but considering he'd been at the job with no pay raise or promotion for five years, it may as well have read "Stationary."

she stood closer than a wet week in July

"It's cold out," he said, and he said "I needa beer."
She looked him one with her black eyeliner drawn up like a harlequin mask. "We're out," she said with a mouth like rebar. Damn, I hate clowns, was his sudden thought.