Read the Letter

You turn the envelope over in your hands, its vantablack profile straining your eyes. There's no way the knocker didn't hear you fumble around trying to get to the door. Why would they just run away like that? A click of heels, light steps on the stairs, it was almost certainly s woman. Your eyes pass over the photographs on the table, was it her?

Snaking a a nail under the flap your tear the end of the letter off. A clean sheet of white paper burns bright against the black. Dropping the envelope to the ground you unfurl the letter and are confronted with neat rows of elegant red handwriting.

"Dear Detective,

I have been watching your progress for a few weeks now and I feel you are the one who can help me with a delicate issue. I think you will find the experience far more rewarding than watching middle aged clowns fuck behind each others backs.

This opportunity is time sensitive and if you would like more details please visit me at Dock 22 tomorrow morning at 5:00 to discuss the matter.

Sincerely,

"Y."

P.S. Nice cock.

Damn! You run to the windows and scan streets around. You live on a second floor walk up above a bakery. There's no way to see into your apartment from the street. You would have to be...

There. Across the street on a rooftop overlooking your apartment there's a chimney stack. At the edge of the chimney stack you can just make out the back of a folding chair. From there anyone could see right into your apartment. It's what you would do. You drag the curtains closed around both windows.

You pace the room, There's no way she saw you masturbating at the table tonight. She couldn't have made it across the street so fast. How often have you done what you were doing though? A couple times a month? A week? She said she's been watching your progress for weeks now. Surprisingly, you feel your cock stir in your pants again again.

This is crazy. You need to confront this woman. You can't just have someone peeking through your blinds into your intimate moments like some kind of pervert.

You shove the Client's photographs into a pile and push them into the corner of the table. The two of them will have to wait. A quick glance at the stove tells you its after midnight or at least some reasonable facsimile. You didn't bother to reset the clock after the last power outage but you were pretty sure it went out around noon so you'd be okay.

You lift up your camera delicately and see the long crack bisecting its lens immediately. Bad for professional work, but it will at make you look like a professional if you wear it around your neck like one. Maybe if this turns out to be legitimate you can get a little money upfront to replace the lens. For now its better than nothing.

The docks are a long bus ride away. They'll be no time to sleep tonight.