The rain hammered the window of my office, a steady drum against the cracked glass. It was past midnight. The cheap rye in my glass was doing little to warm the chill in my bones. Another Tuesday. Another dead end in a city full of them. Then the door creaked open.
She stood there, framed by the neon glow from the street. Seraphina Thorne. Sleek, dark hair, eyes that held more secrets than a forgotten diary. Her dress, green like a deep sea current, clung in all the right places. “Mr. Vance?” Her voice was smooth, like expensive whiskey.
I grunted. “Who else would be here at this hour?”
She stepped in, bringing the scent of jasmine and trouble with her. “My husband, Silas Blackwood, is missing.” Her lips were a perfect red. “He’s gotten himself into a bad spot. Needs finding. Before the wrong people do.”
I leaned back. “And you’re the right people?”
A faint smile. “Let’s just say I’m family. And I’m willing to pay. Generously.”
The next morning, the city coughed up its usual grey light. I started at The Lucky Star, a joint where the regulars had faces like worn-out maps. Gus, the barkeep, polished a glass with a dirty rag.
“Silas Blackwood?” His eyes flickered. “Yeah, he was here. Loudmouth. Said he had a big score. Then argued with some muscle from The Butcher’s crew. Headed east, I think. Towards the docks.”
The docks were a symphony of creaking wood and the smell of dead fish. I found the warehouse Gus mentioned. The air inside was cold, silent. Silas Blackwood lay slumped against a stack of crates, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. A single dark stain bloomed on his shirt. He was clutching something in his hand. A cheap silver locket. I pried it open, slipped it into my pocket. No sense leaving evidence for the cops to mess up.
As I stepped back into the street, two shadows detached themselves from a shipping container. Big men. Faces like carved rock. “Stay out of it, Vance,” one growled. My fist found his jaw before he could finish. The other one hit me hard in the ribs. We danced a little, a messy ballet of grunts and curses. I landed a few more, took a few more. They left me spitting blood and tasting pavement, but I knew I’d annoyed them. That was a start.
Back in my office, the locket felt heavy. Inside, a tiny rolled-up paper. A bank account number. I spent the rest of the afternoon calling in favours. The number had a fortune tied to it. Too much for a small-timer like Silas. Then the phone rang. Sera. “Any luck, Mr. Vance? I heard… he was found.” Her voice was too smooth, too calm. I knew.
Her apartment was high above the city, smelling of money and lies. She wore a silk robe. “You knew, didn’t you?” I held up the locket. Her eyes, those deep-sea currents, didn’t even ripple.
“Silas was a fool. Tried to cut me out. He thought he could run. I just… helped him on his way.” Her smile was chilling. “I paid The Butcher to handle him. Then I hired you to find the body. Neatly done, don’t you think? Diverted all suspicion.” She lit a cigarette, offered me one. “Now, you can walk away. With a big cut. Or you can be a hero, and end up like Silas. Your choice, Vic.”
The money. It was enough to wipe away all my debts, buy a new life. A clean slate. But the look in her eyes, the cold calculation. It stuck in my throat like a shard of glass. I crushed the cigarette she’d offered, still unlit, in her expensive ash tray. “Some things aren’t for sale, Sera.”
I walked out, leaving the fortune behind. The streetlights painted long shadows on the wet pavement. Justice in this city was a myth. But tonight, I chose a different kind of darkness. A familiar one. The rain started again, washing the grime off the streets, but not out of my soul. I needed a drink. A real one this time.
The End