I sat down behind my desk with my whiskey in hand. The raindrops pounding the window pane brought an odd, rhythmic noise to the otherwise silent night, as the street light shining through the dusty Venetian blinds light an otherwise dark room. I downed the whisky completely and poured another shot.
The last case left a bad taste in my mouth, almost literally. Cyanide. Dame didn't deserve to die like that. No one does. Betrayed, heartbroken, and ultimately, dead.
I gulped another mouthful of whiskey. I'm getting too sentimental. Too attached. Maybe it's about time I get out of this stint.
The whiskey went down my throat like acid. I never really liked the taste. It was always about the feeling. Satisfied, I put the bottle back under the desk.
I pulled a cigarette pack from my pocket and lit a stick. The silver lighter was given to me by good ol' Matthew. I haven't seen him since the War. He used to hate smoking. He always said these things kill you. Heh. We were up there fighting a war we had no business fighting, good men dropping left and right, and he was worried that cigarettes will kill you. He's right, of course. And it sure damn well is taking its time.
The room was almost filled with haze from the smoke. I was drifting off into Wonderland when, like a sharp knife to the throat, I heard a knock.
“Come in.”
She went through that door like a queen walking down her aisle. The coat probably helped a lot since it also probably costs more than my entire years income. It was like wings to a body of an angel. Her red hair was tied neatly behind her head. Her face was stunning, although you can never really tell what she was thinking. If there is one thing I'm sure of, though, she reeks trouble.
“Mr. Reiner, I presume?” her voice was commanding.
“Yes ma'am, and how can I help you? And please, have a seat.”
I motioned her to the front of the desk while I close the door behind us.
To be continued...