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Disclaimer
No warranties. This ebook and its context are a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. This electronic file is licensed for vault-purchased, private individual contemplation or entertainment only. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.
The Eager Detective - A short narration
The Eager Detective
© Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved
Detective Trump came in and saw Huggins lying dead, and he considered it an omen, so he'd go out to solve the murder case and become famous. He went out and threw his weight around. Solving the case? Sure!
It was one of those white stone places up in the east seventies. Plenty of class, Trump thought, as he walked up the steps. He turned and looked at the guy waiting in the car. He shrugged, and the guy shrugged back.
Trump was in his early thirties. He was five eight in height, and he weighed 170 and it was packed in like steel. He was a private investigator, and he was reckless. Sure of himself. It showed in his gray eyes and the glint in his carelessly combed light brown hair and the set of his jawline. It showed in the thin grin of his lips.
His lips grinned like that as the door opened. A servant, a lackey.
`Yes, please?´
`I'd like to see Miss Gillette.´
`She busy.´
`Not too busy to see me, ´ Trump said. `I'm coming in.´
Lackeys are either very tough, or they are very craven, and the servant was of the latter stereotype. He stepped aside, and Trump walked through some rooms only artists, or drug abusers, would feel comfortable in.
`Nice place you've got here, Miss Gillette, ´ Trump said.
She was small, slim, and even in the frock of a sculptress she looked delicate, sexy, and graceful. In one hand she held a chisel. In the other she held a light hammer. She was working on a chunk of marble, and she had the forehead and general contours almost completed.
As she turned around she showed a good-looking set of features. She had dark brown hair coming in bangs to the eyebrows, and her eyes were gold-hazel. Her mouth was a little too wide, but still she was a good-looking girl, gorgeous in her own way. By eyesight she was in her late twenties.
`Just who are you, and what is the meaning of this?´ she said.
`My name is Trump, and I'm a friend of Lyle Huggins.´
`Is that so?` she said. `How is Lyle?`
`He's dead.´
She blinked a few times, and then she said´, `What happene, and when?`
Trump said: `He was murdered—this morning. Stabbed.´
She blinked a few more times, and then she looked at the floor for a few seconds. Trump was watching her, and then he was glancing sideways to a little jade box that held cigarettes. He took one up, eased a stray safety match from his vest pocket, flicked it with his fingernail, and lit up.
He took a few
Impressum
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.10.2019
ISBN: 978-3-7487-1866-6
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Dedication? Well, kudos to John Ballentine and Julie Hoverson. For renewing my confidence, despite failures & setbacks, and for teaching me some minor lessons about how much more work it will be to go #audiodrama with my own stories!
Good luck, to both your teams!
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With my special, personal thanks to Neike Tessa-Tessaro, for being the helpful friend you have been to me!
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