1950’s Detective Pastiche - Original Writing

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1950’s Detective Pastiche - Original Writing Death of the Rich It was 5:30 on a cold, wet wintry afternoon. I was sitting in my office smoking a cigar. I was very comfortable in my blue suit. It had just been cleaned. The shirt was pure white and my tie dark blue. I felt clean and sober. For the first time in a very long time. I was just about to leave when a tall milky skinned dame walked in. Blond hair, great figure, lips like cherries and blue eyes. She sat down, smoothed her red skirt and watched me curiously, like a cat watching her prey. While twiddling her golden locks she said, “Did you hear about the Rothwell case?” “Yes, what is it to you?” I said suspiciously. “I have information. Could interest you.” She spoke calmly as she hitched up her skirt. “I wouldn’t be sure of that,” I sneered “It’s about who killed him,” she said so coolly it was as if ice struck my lungs. How did she know? “How do you know about this case?” I snapped grabbing her arm. Using my tie she slowly pulled my face closer to hers, “I have my contacts,” she smirked. Throwing my tie back playfully at me she reached into her black embroidered purse and took out a small blue bottle of cologne. She sprayed it on, smiled and said sexily, “You like it?” “Not my kinda thing,” I answered quickly. “How much do you know about this case?” I snapped. Back to the important stuff. “Enough to put your worries at an end,” she said as she stood up. Her eyes looked as though they were purring at me as she whipped her eyelashes, paced around my wooden desk and began to massage my shoulders, “In more ways than one,” she whispered in my ear. “You haven’t told me your name.” I stood up as I watched her swing around and sit on the desk. She took a cigarette out of her black bag,

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