Richard Chandler, Private Investigator

(This story is written like a Hard-Boiled detective story, and the chapters are written as they would be if they were serialized in a magazine.)

In walked a pair of legs like I ain’t ever seen. Dress was short--I mean short--blood red against a black and white movie. No straps, the whole of her back on display for anyone to see. A long cigarette holder between her fore and middle finger, waving it around her elegantly, like she was royalty, like she owned the place. Like she was applying perfume. She smelled like ****, slow and painful. Amidst the clutter of the clinking of drinks and laughter and shouting and murmuring I could make out the staccato rhythm of her heels as she walked towards me. It seems like she came here looking for me just as I had come here looking for her, but unlike her I didn't know that until now.

Her first trick after sitting down beside me was to offer to buy me a drink. Her second trick was ordering two of the strongest drinks in the house (I would know, I had had at least one of each at one point or another). Clearly, this was a woman who could handle her money and her liquor, so she knew what she was doing. She tells me that her husband is visiting gay bars in the other part of town, that much she knows for sure, and she thinks he is in trouble, has gotten involved with the wrong types of people. Now, obviously she can't go anywhere near the joints, but a pretty piece of ass like me should have no problem getting into a place like that, but that wasn't the only reason she chose me. She heard I do things off the record, and she needed to keep this quiet so as to not risk ruining her reputation. She told it like she was offering more than money in return for my services.

I was no fool, or maybe I was. I knew she probably wouldn't let me sleep with her, but I figured what the hell? They, whoever "they" are, always warn about the pride before the fall. Did it ever occur to them that maybe it was worth getting your wings melted for a change to get that close to the sun? If hell awaits us all, what difference does it make if you roll a stone up a hill for all eternity if it means enjoying the ride on the way there? I told her I would take the case and gave her the number for my office. She told me she would call me the next time he left the house without telling her. By the time I remembered I didn't catch the name of either her or her husband, her glass was empty save for a few ice cubes and she was out the door.