The\nrain wouldn\u2019t let up. It never did. The sky seemed to always be dark any more\nin this crumbling city. As I gazed out into the void I heard the elevator door\nchime in the hallway. Someone was coming up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Odd for this time of the hour\nsince my office was the only one open. The two-bit lawyers across the hall left\nages ago but then again, I never leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I glanced to the door my\nmind wondered who would be knocking at my chamber door. Ah, Poe. This was my\nlife ever more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Could it be an old woman who\nneeded help proving her old man was creeping in the dark? No, not at this hour.\nMaybe it was a drunk trying to get out of the rain. I raised my glass of Scotch\nto toast the fine hobo would be falling out of the elevator in 5\u2026 4\u2026 3\u2026 2\u2026 1\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nothing. I could hear the doors open, pause, and close. Well here is to the ghost of Christmas past, I thought as I finished the glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The winds howled outside.\nAnother sleepless night. Another bottle down. A crack of light flashed out on\nthe horizon, the thunder rumbled the glass window of the miniature skyscraper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sighing I took my seat. My desk\ncluttered with cases, some solved others collecting dust. The cigar still\nburning, the bottle empty, the thoughts ever running.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A shadow appeared through the\nprivacy glass at the door. The shadow knocked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How? I wasn\u2019t drunk. One bottle\nof scotch couldn\u2019t even affect me. Startled I reached for my revolver, the worn\nmetal felt cold in my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDetective, do you have a\nmoment? A female voice replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The mob wouldn\u2019t send a woman\nto do their bidding, but the bank would I thought. However, the shadow was tall\nfor a woman. Probably in heels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Come in and make it\nquick\u201d I retorted, adjusting my revolver under my desk. If she brought friends,\nsomeone wasn\u2019t going home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The door nob slowly turned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I cocked the revolver with my\nthumb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In came the woman with a large\nwhite hat, blonde hair down well past her shoulders. She was about 5 foot 4\nplus her 3-inch heels. Her white trench coat was tailor fit with matching white\ngloves. She had money. Money could pay for more scotch let alone a bill or two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The only threat possibly was a\nwhite umbrella almost half her height. I took the chance and slipped the\nrevolver in the holster under the desk. A man in my profession doesn\u2019t take\nrisks. Well, then again, looks like I do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat can I do for you miss\u201d\u2026 I\npaused waiting for her to\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMiss Waltz\u201d her eyes gazed\nacross the room as she places the umbrella in one hand and began removing her\ngloves. As her eyes moved, they paused on the bottle and glass before continuing\non.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell Miss Waltz, what brings\nyou at this late hour?\u201d My eyes fell from hers for just a moment. Whatever she\nhad on underneath was short. Either she was from the main line or\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She blushed. \u201cI need you to\nfind someone for me.\u201d Husband came to mind. \u201cMy father.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow long has he been gone?\u201d I\nasked while trying to find the last drop from my glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTwo days.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy haven\u2019t you gone to the\npolice?\u201d I asked already knowing the answer. She had the look of money without\never working for it. Her father on the other hand probably made an enemy in\nwhich bringing police into would bring them infamy, and the angelic look\nwouldn\u2019t mix.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI did. When they called his\nsecretary she told them he was away for business. However, he never told me\nabout it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her hand reaching into her\npocket. She wasn\u2019t pulling a pistol out of anywhere as her coat hugged her tiny\nframe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHowever I found these in his\ncoat pocket\u201d tossing matches onto the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The logo was a scantily clad\nred-haired bombshell flanked by two dice. Both ones showing. This pack of\nmatches came from a dive bar in the middle of the slums, known for the\nnefarious acts that occurred around it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLady, you look like a good\ngirl but your father is probably on some trip. I got actual cases\u201d pointing to\nthe dust-covered folders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Damn. Maybe I was feeling it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll pay you, 5 thousand now.\nIf he comes back it\u2019s yours to keep. If not, I\u2019ll pay all your costs and fees\nto find him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Five thousand dollars. To\nlisten, check up one lead, and walk away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Do you have a picture? Or\nanything else that would be able to assist me?\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell\u2026\u201d she looked around the\nroom towards a batch of old newspapers. She flipped through them. \u201cHere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She handed me last Thursday\u2019s\npaper. I really should clean up this office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHim.\u201d she pointed<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man was Joseph Fredricks,\none of the top 10 wealthiest philanthropists in the city. He was in the paper\nonce a month for some charity or donation. He was always going to foreign\ncountries and bringing back rare oddities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That isn\u2019t Mister Waltz doll. I\nchecked again for a ring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am his stepdaughter. Here is\nthe check for five thousand dollars. Call this number if you find anything, it\nis to the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She placed the envelope with\nthe number on it on the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cVery well Miss Waltz, I will\nbegin my search tomorrow morning.\u201d Of course, after I cash this check I\nthought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Thank you, detective.\nPlease find my father.” Her eyes locked on mine as her body turned back to\nthe door. As the knob turned, tears broke from her face. With that she left,\nher heels clicking down the hall. Down the hall, the elevator chimed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The doors opened and closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was silent in the building\nagain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Out of all the doors in this\ncity she walked through mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I should have realized there was more to this story just as I should have noticed she was completely dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Note: First try and getting in to noir writing theme. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The rain wouldn\u2019t let up. It never did. The sky seemed to always be dark any more in this crumbling […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":22,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[7],"class_list":["post-21","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-story","tag-short-stories"],"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/44a32fda5de98734aa695b2d46082d12.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":224,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21\/revisions\/224"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/afterhavoc.foxgear.net\/site\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}