It was cold that evening. Pale snow flakes were slowly falling on the street, like tears that have dried up. I was sitting in my office, the light on my desk dimmed, writing the report of a case I should've never accepted in the first place; the bastard had shot his wive to claim the life insurance money, as if I that was something new.
In this city, you got shanked or shot for scratching the side of a car, which happen to belong to some mobster. I was just about to drown in sleep and irrelevant thoughts about justice, when... she came in.
Blonde hair, a dark blue dress and eyes that would've knocked a regular Joe off his feet. She sat down on the chair facing my desk, lit up a smoke and looked at me, as if she was trying to guess what kind of man I was.
Silence. For about thirty seconds, we looked at eachother, and then, six words:
I have a case for you. Those were the words one had to say to get my attention, and these were spoken in a way that got my curiosity too.
I grabbed a new Lucky from the pack on my desk, lit it up and said: ''Well, I'm your man miss''.
