Here is my story, like I promised!
(sorry it's late at night but at least it's still on the day that I promised!)
Hi. Name’s Jack Mortimer, Private Eye. I’m a pro at cracking cases, finding lost people…the usual. Even when there’s no hope, people ring me up and I’ll find the missing person.
I ain’t got no staff. Just me and a man’s best friend: his gun. And sometimes I could do with a drink.
My office is way down in the slums. No one bothers me, ‘cause no one likes comin’ here, unless they’re truly desperado.
I live in Virginia.
I’ve just come back from cracking the occasional case of robbery. Nuttin’ too much, but it pays well. I casually put my feet up on my desk and light a cigarette.
Then I count the dough.
After that, I stick it in my hidden safe. I don’t spend it much, not even on cigarettes and drinks. I save those for when I’m pleased with myself.
Gotta have some relaxment, as solving cases is too exciting sometimes.
Like the time I got shot in the arm, and later in the leg. My side has a scar from a year ago, when some stupid thief lashed out with his knife. He’s in jail, of course, and will be for a couple more years.
Not that I really care about him.
I dropped the cigarette stub in the trash, not on an ashtray. Ashtrays can make your office get cluttered up, and makes me want to smoke more, but I don’t want to smoke so much, only sometimes.
Suddenly, I am real quiet. There’s silence for a moment, but then I hear it. The distant pattering of shoes on the puddled street. I almost didn’t hear it over the rain, but my left ear never lets me down. Sounds like high-heels, but it could be a cane.
I cock my gun, just in case it’s another wino from the streets. Gotta scare ‘em off somehow, even if it doesn’t mean actually shooting them, which I usually don’t, as theys usually runs off when they see my gun. I duck behind the door as it opens, slowly and cautiously at first. Someone enters, and with the light I use, I can see it’s a woman.
“Mr. Mortimer?” she says. “Hello? Are you there? Hello? Mr. Mortimer! Are you here?”
Good grief, give a man time to answer, lady!
“Are you here, Mr. Mortimer?” she says again.
“Who wants to know?” I said ominously, shutting the door and making myself look menacing.
The lady didn’t utter a cry. She swallowed instead, so that made me realize she was too scared to even scream.
“Oh, Mr. Mortimer! I’m in trouble! I need you desperately!” the lady cries out suddenly. I don’t recognize her really, in my dark office. I wonders who she is. As if reading my thoughts, the lady says, “I’m Margaret Simmons. Please help!”
Margaret Simmons? The famous actress and singer? “Huh?” I says in surprise.
“Please, someone is threatening me!” Margaret Simmons says.
Whatcha think? Please comment and leave your opinion; I need all the critiques and things I can get! :)
Cheerio and good night, everyone! Happy November 1st!