*an answer to ray's two heart beats. a new story for anyone who wants to write on it... if there's any takers.
It started with the girl and the job. She called first. Found me in the yellow pages I guess. She sounded young. Probably broke, but things were slow and I told her to come by.
She showed up, all 5 foot nothing. Black hair, dark eyes and pale skin. I heard her too big combat boots clumping down the hall before she even rang the bell. I let her in, told her to take a chair, and sat down behind my desk.
I don’t ask questions, I let them tell it. You can learn a lot about a case by listening to a client try to stutter their way through the excuses of why they need a cut rate window peeper like me. Usually they lay out some sob story of wrongs and desperation, but while they’re dabbing at their eyes with that mascara stained tissue, they’re glancing at you out the side trying to figure if you buy it or not.
The killer is, it doesn’t matter if I buy it or not. I’m just figuring the bigger the lie, the more they’ll pay. I’m not anybody’s conscience, but the more a client lies, the more they want to just get it over with, the more they’ll pay.
And I have expensive habits.
She comes in, Lizzie Grouper, with that awful name and her big black boots, sits down, looks me right in the eye, and says, “I think my ex-boyfriend was eaten by a minor demon from the suburbs of hell and now they’re after me.”
I stare at her for awhile, wondering what the joke is. She stares right back. I bite.
“Not really my line.” I lean back in the chair and prop my boot heels on my desk and lace my fingers behind my head. “Sounds like you need a priest.” I give her a smile.
“I already tried that. They weren’t interested. I don’t think they really believe in hell anymore.”
“Well darling, if there’s a hell I figure we’re in it. And that suburb the demon was from, I don’t suppose it was Hoboken was it?”
She sighed and almost curled up in the chair. “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d take me serious. It was your name I guess. My mistake.”
“Look kid, I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, but I make a living digging up dirty secrets and snapping dirty photo s for people getting divorces or looking to run a bit of blackmail. I don’t deal with the supernatural. You could say flesh is more my line. Good luck though.”
I stood up and walked her to the door. Just as she was about to leave she gave me a long look with those dark eyes and said, “I’m sorry. They’ll be after you now. I didn’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’ll all be over soon anyway. Thank you Mr. Saint.”
The door closed behind her and she was gone.