Untitled Short Story

I'm asleep at my desk with my hat down and my feet up when she walks in. My assistant likes to let clients through unannounced. He says it's to remind me that he's not a secretary. I remind him that I don't need an assistant either, but we both know that's a lie.

I try to right myself a little too quickly and end up on my back behind the desk. I hear her stifle a laugh, but, to give her credit, by the time I'm on my feet, she has her serious face on again. Pity. I imagine she looks much nicer smiling. I imagine a lot of things in that first second.

She's got a trenchcoat on, soaked through from the afternoon rain. The curves of her body are mostly hidden, but the hints at what sits out of sight makes my mind, and other things, run wild. The hat covers most of her hair, but a few red strands lie on her shoulder, stuck to the coat.

I hit her with my best opening line.

"How can I help, ma'am?" Hey, this is a business, not a bar.

"It's my husband..." (My heart sinks) "He's missing." (That's better).

I offer Curves a chair and some water.

"Got anything stronger?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I run a legitimate business here. I uphold the law, not break it."

"That's okay. We don't have time for drinks. We need to get to my husbands office, where he was last seen." Curves turns from the desk and heads for the door, holding it open while I grab my coat. We step out into the gloom of the afternoon. I look up at the glow of traffic, shielding my eyes from the unending rain, popping my collar against the wind. Far above I can make out the murky shape of the dome, sickly rays of sunlight bleeding through.

"My car is this way," I say as I point her toward the garage. "Tell me about your husband."

"He runs the xenogenetics division for BioDiversity, developing new strains of XNA for clients. His office is at Maginus Base. That's where we're heading, Mr. Walsh."

"Wait." I grab her by the arm and spin her around. "Maginus Base? Isn't that...?"

"On the moon. Yes. I have two tickets to Jansen Base, the nearest civilian habitat, leaving in six hours. Can I count on your assistance? As you can imagine, I can pay you for your services, and expenses. I hear you're the best, Mr. Walsh. I need you."

My heart skips a beat before my brain reminds me that she's a married woman. I unlock my beat-up old Ford and yank the door open. It's not pretty, but it gets me places.

"Thank god you got those tickets, ma'am. I don't think this thing could handle the mileage."

She cracks a smile, and I'm lost in the movie theater of my imagination all over again.

The Dead Pool

I wrote this in response to an email I received from a good friend. His mail was written in a funny noir detective style, opening with the awesome line "I was sitting counting the doors in the office, there was only one but I couldn't be sure of that, I would have to recount". I responded in a similar style, but dropped the professional comedian level of humour that my friend had reached, knowing I could never best his effort.

Once finished, I actually quite liked what I'd written and thought I'd share. Remember, I wrote in just a few minutes, with no editing or rewrites. It's not perfect, but it is fun. Enjoy.

The sun dripped through the blinds like syrup, pooling on the office floor. My first thought was that I should mop that up before someone slips on it and sues. My second thought was that those drugs were really good...

She had slipped them into my drink when she leaned over to read the casefile. Other things had slipped too, probably why I didn't notice her dropping the white power in my bourbon. The last undissolved grains sat on the bottom of the tumbler, laughing at me. Literally. They had formed a tiny face and were mocking me with their tiny laughter. I tried to throw the tumbler across the room but my arm was jelly. Strawberry, I think.

Legs stood in the shadows near the huge plastic plant I like to have the intern water every morning. Her ruby red dress was swimming across her chest and thighs, running down her leg to mix with the golden pool on the floor. Somewhere far away a voice was confirming something. Probably hers. I didn't hear an answer, but that made sense. She was on the phone. My phone. I'll have to check my wire tap I installed on my own line last fall once my head clears. If I survive that long.

Vancouver's a helluva place. The streets are clean, the broads are hot and the cars are sexy. I thought there wasn't a dark patch within city limits. I was wrong. Everywhere Legs walks, shadows follow her.

A million miles away a door opens and closes. Footsteps ring though my body, each one it's own tiny explosion of ominous foreshadowing. The creek on the fifth footfall confirms my dreamy suspicions. Someone is coming up the stairs. Legs brushes past me, her golden hair melts down into the red dress and then into the pool on the ground. I'll really have to clean that up soon. It might stain and affect my damage deposit.

A movement of air on my face tells me that Legs opened the door to my office. For a moment, I curse myself that I didn't lock it before I left. Then I remember I'm sitting in my chair, inside the office.

My vision tries to clear and for a second I focus on the face in the door. It's not a face I was hoping to see. Instinctively my body shifts in the chair to get more comfortable. I'm going to be here a while.

Guess I'll just have to get the intern to clean that pool after the weekend. I should leave her a note...