NOTE: this flash fiction was brought to you by having two sounds run simultaneously: This and this. Enjoy, and try it for yourself.
It was a rainy night, the sort of night where couples would sit and curl up next to the fireplace. Sadly, that's not the life I lead. The life of a private eye is one of sadness, loneliness, and drunkenness.
As I downed the last of my scotch, I heard a knock on the door. In walked this gorgeous woman, with her brown hair flowing to her taut, small waist. She had curves like a snake racing to find shade in the desert. When she spoke, her voice had the roughness of sandpaper, but with the sensuality of a woman of ill repute.
"You aren't busy, are you?" she asked.
I gazed into those sparkling green eyes of hers. Any normal man would be lost in those eyes. "Does it look like I am?" I replied.
"I'm sorry," she said, obviously embarrassed. "It's just... it's just that this night has been so rainy and cold, not to mention that something terrible has just happened with my husband, and I need someone, anyone, to help me."
I debated between telling her to get the hell out of my office, and taking up her case. I poured myself another glass of scotch. "Tell me about it," I said.
"Well, you see, I was out wandering the streets, since my husband has been known to be violent when things don't go his way. And, well, things weren't going his way. He's lost everything in the stock market, and he numbs his pain through alcohol, much like yourself, it seems."
She paused, waiting for a reaction. "Go on," I said.
"Well, when I returned to the house, it was quiet, a little too quiet. I called out for him, but there was no answer. I checked his study, I checked the den, I checked the bedroom, but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, I checked the bathroom, and what I saw was terrifying."
She paused again, wanting me to reassure her. I stayed silent, and she continued.
"His body was lying on the floor, three bullets through the chest, and two in the head. Blood was everywhere. I thought I was going to faint. When I finally regained my composure, I saw that he was holding a note. It was a note from his gambling buddies. I brought it with me, in case you wanted to read it."
I took the note. It read: "You're late again, Stanley. Too many tardies means you are expelled."
"I just didn't know what to do," she said. "So I came to you."
I looked at her. I looked at the note. Something didn't seem quite right. "Something doesn't seem quite right," I said.
She looked nervous, like a priest who had just been accused of molesting an altar boy. "What do you mean?" she said.
"Well, for one, you are suspiciously specific about the injuries your husband sustained. Secondly, you say you took this note from your husband's hand, yet I see no blood on the note, nor on your hands."
She shifted uneasily in her chair. I knew I was onto something.
"The note itself is suspect. The handwriting is far too flowery to belong to a bookie or someone from the mob, so that story doesn't check out. And finally, Stanley was in here a few nights ago."
Curious, she said, "He was?"
"Yes, he was. He said that his wife, which I'm taking to be you, was acting extremely suspicious, and he wasn't sure if he was going to make it to the end of the month. He mentioned that he had a lot of money in the stock market, and that he wanted to make sure that it was all going to a well-respected person or organization. He set up an agreement with me, that if he were to die at the hands of his wife, that I would fully inherit his earnings, and that you would get none of it."
The broad was offended. "You didn't agree, did you?"
"Of course I did," I said. "I'm my time as a private eye, I've seen a lot of suspicious things. And wives killing their rich husbands isn't anything new. So I will gladly accept his money, and I will gladly call the police on you. Get out of my office."
She started to protest. I held up a hand to quiet her.
"I said, get out of my office, you cunt."
She huffed and puffed, like the Big Bad Wolf at a little pig's house. She left the office, slamming the door behind her.
I choked down the rest of my scotch. It was a cold, rainy, lonely night yet again.
