Detective Noire - Page one  

ProFotoFreak 45M
224 posts
9/16/2005 5:14 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Detective Noire - Page one

Detective Noire
- Page One


The second hand swept around the dial of the wall clock much slower than
normal, meanwhile sweat trickeled in rivulets down my back at full speed and the cold metal of the gun gouged into my temple. For some reason, though, the smell of gunoil is what seemed to stand out most to me. Funny what your mind latches onto at a time like this. Funny. Oh, but I’m way ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let me back up.

She slipped in while I was shutting down for the day. Has it ever occurred to you that life rarely gives you notice before it clubs you over the head?

I mean really. It was 6: 08 p.m. on a very non-descript evening, yet my life was about to change quite radically. No fireworks. No slow crescendo of orchestra music while the lights get dimmer and the background recedes from around me like some scene from an over-budget science fiction movie.

All I was doing was shutting down my office like I had done every other day for longer than I cared to remember. Actually, as the years had gone by, the chore had gotten longer and longer. More doors to check, more machines to shut down. More sensitive files to secure. Not that there weren’t more perks too. The wet bar in my office comes immediately to mind.

As I was saying: She slipped in. I didn’t even know that she was there for several minutes - which is not like me. Granted, I was overly concerned with having my third drink since a lunch of martinis, but that’s besides the point.

It’s not like I had any place else to be, and I needed to relax and plan my next move. I needed to look out over the city from the windows in my big, cushy office and think. I needed to chew on a good cigar and plot.

I suppose that sounds contradictory to my previous description of a nondescript day, but it isn’t. It wasn’t even out of the ordinary. After all, my entire business is a giant game of chess - a high-stakes, money-game at the tables in the park. The difference is that in detective work the pieces have heartbeats, the rules are more flexible, and the stakes are higher than just a few tickets to tonight’s game. They are considerably higher when I work for a political party. Like now.

It was when I realized that I smelled smoke and my cigar wasn’t lit that it dawned on me. Either somebody else was in the room, or important paperwork was on fire.

I turned around to see the back of a nicely shaped blonde in a long fox fur coat and nice heels as the door snicked shut quietly.

“I’m closed.” I said trying to avoid slurring my words. She didn’t respond verbally, but the overhead fluorescent lights went out and I heard the deadbolt slide home.

“I’m armed.” I said, suddenly stone-cold sober, and reached for the underside of my desk.

“Shhh.” she cajoled turning away from the door. A cloud of smoke swirling around her, the red glow of her cigarette left a trail through the air like an independance day sparkler. It was all that my newly blinded, alcohol-bleary eyes could make out clearly.

What I remember as a very shapely leg advanced toward me and her other hand seemed to be in the pocket of her coat.

I placed the point of the .45 Smith & Wesson on the top of the desk with a pronounced thunk.

“Please stay where you are and take your hand from your pocket.” I said setting down my tumbler of Maker’s Mark.

The click of her heels on my hardwood floor stopped. I strained to evaluated her silhouette while my eyes continued to adjust to the dimmer room. I raised the weapon.

“I said I want to see your hands. Slowly raise them above you, and lace your fingers together behind your head or you’re about to have a very bad day.”

As she did as instructed, the coat spread open in front. Light pollution from the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows kept me from being completely blind. But my eyes were still adjusting.

Keeping my eyes on her hands, I edged my way around my desk and approached her carefully. Sliding my free hand inside the front opening of the coat, I touched bare skin.

“Surprise.” she breathed.

“Nadia?” I asked in shock. Stumbling backwards, I smashed my tailbone into the edge of the desk and then fumbled to switch on the nearby table lamp.

[to be continued]

Detective Noire - Page one
Detective Noire - Page Two
Detective Noire - Page Three
Detective Noire - Page Four (last one)


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