"Yes, I killed him. I killed him for money, and a woman, and I didn't get the money, and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?"

-Walter Neff, opening scene of Double Indemnity

Everything started in a nice, respectable, upper-class neighborhood in Los Angeles, on a beautiful spring afternoon.

Actually, that isn't strictly true. In some ways it had all started years before that, but as far as Raoul de Chagny was concerned, everything started in the late May of 1937, with an ordinary afternoon's work.

It wasn't even a particularly notable assignment; just driving up to the Los Feliz district to ask after some auto renewals. There had been some confusion with the newer guy the company had first tried sending down- apparently he had spent twenty minutes trying to get the man of the house to talk to him, unsuccessfully, before figuring out that the policies were all in the wife's name anyway. Raoul had tried very hard not to laugh when the guy told him that story.

Now, he drove slowly up the tree-lined street, enjoying the way the shadows of palm fronds came in through his car windows and dappled the passenger's side with shade. On the other side of the road, some kids tossed a baseball back and forth across a smooth green lawn. Somewhere in the distance, an ice cream truck singsonged its tune, artlessly soundtracking suburbia. Days like this made Raoul wonder why he even missed France, when America could be so beautiful in its own way.

Altogether, he was in a wonderful mood by the time he rang the doorbell at the Dietrichson residence. Not even the frowning face of the maid who greeted him could dampen his spirits. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Is Mrs. Dietrichson in?"

"Who wants to see her?"

"My name is Raoul. Raoul de Chagny."

The obviously foreign name hardly seemed to increase her confidence in him. "If you're selling something-"

"Look," he cut her off, shooting her his most charming smile. She was unmoved. "It's Mrs. Dietrichson I'd like to talk to, and it's not about magazine subscriptions. Promise." She didn't move, and he started to wonder if he'd have to push past her. Everyone said it was necessary sometimes, but Raoul really hated that part of the job.

"Mrs. Dietrichson is not in."

"Well, how soon do you expect her?"

"She'll be home when she gets here, if that's any help to you."

Not shockingly, it wasn't. Just as the conversation was turning into a standoff, a new voice floated down from inside. "Nettie, who is this?"

It was a man's voice, a smooth tenor that made even one short sentence seem melodic. Nettie, however, was unaffected. "Some salesman, sir."

"Not a salesman!" Raoul called hopefully through the half-open doorway. "I'm from Pacific All-Risk Insurance, about the policy on Mrs. Dietrichson's automobiles."

"Let him in, Nettie."

She did so, albeit with a put-upon sigh. At last, Raoul stepped into the house.

It was furnished predictably enough, with the kind of faux-Spanish stylings that Americans seemed to find fashionable, but Raoul wasn't really looking at the decor. His attention was entirely caught by the man who stood at the top of the sweeping front staircase. He was...well, he was appetizing, Raoul could think of no other word for it.

The man was dressed in a simple, dark suit, closely tailored to fit his slim form. He stood with the easy, graceful posture of a dancer- or perhaps a singer, Raoul speculated, with a voice that smooth. The only thing interrupting the fluid line of his stance was one hand held up, in a curious position, so that it covered half of his face. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he surveyed Raoul from above, and his smooth hair glinted like mahogany in the light from the open windows.

Raoul tried very, very hard not to stare.

"It's for Mrs. Dietrichson." Nettie broke in.

"Well, considering that I'm Mr. Dietrichson." The man answered with the pointed patience of someone who had had this conversation before. "What did you say you were here for?" This was directed, languidly, at Raoul.

"Oh." Raoul tried to regain his bearings. "Afternoon. I'm from the Pacific All-Risk Insurance Company. It's about some renewals on the automobiles. I've been trying to contact your wife for the past two weeks, but she never seems to be home…?"

The stranger smiled. "Anything I can do?"

Raoul supposed there was. Assumedly, Mr. Dietrichson handled the finances anyway. They just couldn't contact him directly, since his name wasn't on the papers. "The insurance ran out on the fifteenth. I'd hate to think of you getting a smashed fender when the company wouldn't be able to cover it."

"Let me come down." He did so, descending so gracefully that Raoul reconsidered the dancer theory. "I think we should talk in the living room, Mr…?"

"Raoul de Chagny."

"Raoul de Chagny." The man repeated softly. He was one of the very few people in America who had pronounced it perfectly on the first try. "You go on in. I'll be there in one moment." Raoul also noticed that the man spoke with the carefully upper class enunciation of someone who hadn't actually grown up in the upper class. You heard that way of speaking a lot around here, on the spouses of the affluent.

"Alright, thank you Mr. Dietrichson."

"Please, call me Erik."

The living room was furnished in much the same way as the rest of the house, but it was clean, and nice enough. The only thing that seemed not to fit with the design scheme was the grand piano that stretched itself out in the far corner of the room. Its smooth black surface was cluttered with a messy pile of sheet music, a few pens, and two photographs.

Curious now, Raoul walked over to examine them.

One was of a hard-mouthed woman with her hair pulled sleekly back against her skull. She looked as though she had been shockingly beautiful once, before she had been simply middle-aged. The elusive Mrs. Dietrichson, Raoul assumed.

The other was of a teenage girl. In the picture, her dark eyes were wide and almost startled looking in their innocence, but her smile looked sharp enough to cut glass. She bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the first picture- the same dark skin (not as though they were colored, exactly, but as though someone in a previous generation could have been), the same large eyes, the same narrow features. A daughter, Raoul guessed, or perhaps a niece.

His musings were interrupted by a polite cough from the other side of the room. He turned, and saw Erik Dietrichson standing in the doorway, smirking at him. He flushed.

"Thank you for waiting for me, Raoul."

"Oh, no trouble."

"I hope I've got my 'face' on straight, is all." He said with a sudden wry tone. He picked up a gilt hand mirror from a nearby table, and examined his reflection.

It was then that Raoul noticed the mask- or maybe it was a prosthetic? The side of Erik Dietrichson's face that had previously been covered with his hand was now encased by several pieces of a smooth, skin-toned material. Porcelain, or maybe some thin plastic. Earlier, Raoul had thought that the man's mouth was twisted into a playful smirk. Seeing him closer, he realized that his lips might actually just be twisted.

It didn't make Raoul want to look at him any less.

"Looks alright for my money." Raoul said, keeping his tone matter of fact. "Been in the war?" The man looked a little young for that to be the case, but Raoul had only seen similar prosthetics on soldiers.

"No, I'm afraid I'm rather gun-shy." Erik laughed softly as though at a private joke, and did not elaborate further. "Won't you sit down?" He did so himself as he spoke, reclining on one of the small sofas.

Raoul took the seat across from him.

"So, tell me about the insurance. I'm afraid my wife never remembers to tell me anything."

"I hear wives can be absent minded." Raoul answered lightly. "It's on your two cars, the La Salle and the Plymouth."

The man nodded. His gaze rested on Raoul's face, but so lightly that Raoul couldn't be sure whether the man was really displaying any interest. Remembering his script, Raoul continued. "We'd hate to see the policies lapse, Mr. Dietrichson."

"Erik."

"Right." Raoul smiled. "Erik."

He stopped, his canned speech somewhat derailed.

"Well?" Erik arched an eyebrow, the uncovered one. "Continue, Raoul de Chagny."

"Right. Of course, we give you….we give her….we give thirty days, but that's all we're allowed to give, you see."

"I suppose Antoinette has been busy." There was a subtle curl to his mouth when he spoke his wife's name, something about how carefully he pronounced it. Like he was worried he might call her something less pleasant by accident. Raoul liked to believe it wasn't in his nature to notice these things about strangers, but it was, unfortunately, in his line of work. "She's been taking on a few new students lately, I imagine that's distracted her." Erik continued.

"She's a dance instructor, isn't she?" It had been in the company file.

"Yes." Again, he did not elaborate. Again, Raoul saw no reason to press. He did not actually care about Mrs. Dietrichson, or her dance lessons, or the automobile insurance for that matter. He cared mostly about Erik Dietrichson's curious little smile, and the way the man was now playing with the half-buttoned edge of his shirt collar. Trying to seem professional, he continued. "Well, I'm afraid I can't have the renewal signed by anyone whose name isn't on the original paperwork. So, do you think I could catch her at home some evening?"

Erik shrugged. "Probably. But she's never home much before eight."

"Eight would be fine by me."

"Did you say you were from the Automobile Club?"

"No, the All-Risk. Why?"

"Nettie told me that someone from the Automobile Club had been coming around- I don't usually receive visitors myself, for...well, various reasons. Do they have a better rate?"

"If you're a member."

He shook his head.

"Well, you'd have to join the club and pay the membership fee to start with. Now, the Automobile Club is fine. I never knock the other fellow's merchandise…"

Mr. Dietrichson stood up, pacing across the room. He trailed his hand over the mantelpiece as absorbedly as though he was the one who didn't live here. Raoul could almost physically feel his loss of interest. "...but I can do just as well for you. I have a very attractive policy here. For instance, we're writing a new kind of fifty percent retention feature in the collision coverage." He hadn't really expected Erik Dietrichson to understand or care about fifty percent retention features, but the man stopped in his walk as though something in the speech had been quite significant.

"How long have you been in the insurance business, Raoul?"

"About two years."

"And is it going well for you?" He picked up some small glass object from the mantelpiece, turning it over in his hands. Raoul noticed that he wore gloves, even though it was a very warm May afternoon.

"Oh, it's a living."

"Do you handle just automobile insurance? Or other types as well?" He kept turning the little glass thing, whatever it was, over and over in his hands. It glinted in the light from the picture windows.

"All types. Fire, earthquake theft, public liability, group insurance…"

"Do you ever handle accident insurance?"

"Sure, on occasion. Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Erik set his trinket back down on the mantelpiece, and Raoul saw that it was an ashtray. He crossed the room again and sat down beside Raoul, taking up a confiding air. "I worry about my wife sometimes. I know teaching isn't exactly a risky job, but she makes that long drive every morning at rush hour in bad traffic, and then in the evening when it's already after dark. That's an accident waiting to happen, isn't it?"

Raoul tilted his head noncommittally.

Erik laughed, a quiet and self-deprecating chuckle that didn't suit him very well. "I suppose you think I'm a very anxious husband. But I just care so very deeply for Antoinette, and I'd like to know for certain that she could be taken care of, if anything was to happen. Do you see what I mean, Raoul?"

"I see what you mean." Raoul nodded. This was starting to look like a good day of work for him.

"So, what sort of accident insurance could she have?"

"Enough to cover doctors' and hospital bills. For an automobile accident, probably a hundred and twenty five a week cash benefit. And then about fifty thousand capital sum."

"Capital sum? What's that?"

"If...well, in the case of a fatal accident."

"Oh." Erik's gloved hands trembled in his lap, and Raoul considered that he might have misread the way he spoke of his wife earlier. He certainly seemed attached to her now.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said that."

"I suppose you have to think of everything in your business."

"If she's a sensible woman, your wife would understand. But perhaps I should speak to her about this sometime?" Raoul suggested.

Erik nodded, rewarding Raoul with that sweet little smile. "I'd like that. Maybe you could drop by tomorrow evening, around eight-thirty? She should be home by then."

"Will you be there?"

Erik arched an eyebrow. "I'm generally at home. But wasn't it my wife you were originally planning to speak to?"

Raoul knew he had flushed, and hoped Erik would charitably pass it off as the heat from the picture window.

"Or, were you sort of getting over that idea?" Erik murmured instead.

"Maybe I was." Raoul said recklessly, standing. "If you know what I mean."

Erik stood with him. "I wonder if I might know what you mean."

Raoul stepped back, his feet not quite catching on the thick carpet. "Eight thirty tomorrow, then?"

"That is what I suggested."

Raoul drove back out of the neighborhood as slowly as he had driven in. His mind was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle from the trees, and the memory of Erik's laugh.

AN: I'm not as satisfied with this chapter as I'd like to be (I think the rest of what I have pre-written is better), but it should give you an idea of what the story will be. Please note: you really don't have to have seen Double Indemnity to understand the story. But you should see it anyway, becaus edits an amazing movie!

I feel like I should also put a note/disclaimer here that part of the dialogue and plot will be taken from the original movie script. It will usually be tweaked, to fit the characters better, but I take no credit for anything that appears in the script for Double Indemnity. I don't own it, I just enjoy it. A lot of the dialogue, however, is mine. I do own that, as well as this story itself.

Anyway, enjoy the ride! I certainly will.