Written for #MotivationMonday
By Lisa McCourt Hollar
He never imagined the butler would be his greatest threat. Yeah, I see the smirk on your face. Let me explain.
My name is Sam Malone, Private Eye. Okay, quit laughing. I know I don’t look like your average private dick, but don’t let the lipstick and short skirt fool you. I can pound pavement along with the best of them and the legs get me in places other detectives can’t. In this case it was Packard’s Lounge. The butler answered the door on my first ring, took one look at what I was packing…. My 36 Double D’s.. He said Mr. Finch was expecting me. I didn’t find that hard to believe, I had been asking all over town about the man. Mainly I was spreading the word that he was a douche.
Trenton Finch sat behind a big mahogany desk, smoking a cigar. I got the impression the little guy was compensating for something.
“So, you’re Sammy Malone’s daughter. I knew your dad once upon a time.”
“If you knew my dad, then that makes you a bigger douche than I thought.”
He frowned. “So what is it I can do for you, Samantha… or do you go by Sammy?”
“Sam. Last person that called me Samantha is dead.”
“Oh, who’s that?”
“I’d heard that you’d been his doer… wasn’t sure I believed it. “
“You asked what you could do for me. You can leave Tanya Davis alone.”
“I don’t believe…”
“You might know her as Roxy Devine.”
“Ah, yes, one of my most requested girls.”
“She’s not your girl.”
I bent over his desk, looking him in the eye. Trenton leaned forward so that his nose was pressed towards mine. It could have been very hot, if I didn’t find his breath so disgusting.
“I have a contract that says otherwise.”
“She wants out.”
He laughed, blowing his fetid breath up my nose. “And why would I let her go? She brings in quite a bit of money.”
“Because if you don’t I let everyone see these.” I tossed a manila envelope onto his desk. Looking at me, curious, Finch picked up the envelope and shook out the contents. They were all photos of Trenton dressed in drag.
“I don’t think you would appear to be such a tough guy once these got out.”
“It was then that I heard the sound of a gun cocking. I turned to see the butler sporting a very impressive piece. He shot the douche, right between the eyes.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“You killed him… in cold blood.”
“Look.” He nodded towards the desk. Trenton sagged to the side, a gun hanging limp in his hands.
“He was going to kill you.”
The police detective switched off the recorder. On the table were photos of Trenton Finch… minus most of his head.
“So, you seriously expect me to believe the butler did it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it always the butler?”
Word Count: 500