Flash Fiction: Noir Story

Chapter 3

Her name was Alison Lomack, of Lomack cosmetics. She was tall and pale, long strawberry blond hair that covered one side of her face, a lone bright blue eye staring out from the other side. Her lips were as red as a freshly washed fire truck and appeared wet and pouty, even when she was talking. She wore a long black dress, cut low in the front and long in the side to accent just the right parts. She was all woman, and I even though every alarm in my head was going off, I couldn't help but invite trouble.

She had asked around, various friends and companies, and my name always cam back to her. Fir the job she needed done, only I had the ability to do it. All because I have one skill that strives above the rest. No matter what the case, no matter what the shit eating circumstance, it comes back to one thing. I can find what is lost. People, objects, things, I can find them. usually though by the time someone gets to me though, the thing they are looking for doesn't want to be found.

Alison though was the heir to a huge fortune from the cosmetic firm her husband had owned. He had died of a heart attack last month and left a huge fortune to her, providing she could find his long lost daughter, Elsa. It seems after his marriage to Alison, Elsa had ran off rather than see her father marry some bimbo, as Alison told me. The two hadn't spoken in nearly 7 years, but it seems old age had softened the once brutal Mr. Lomack, and now my fine widow would get no inheritance unless his daughter could be found.

She paid my daily fee for the next three weeks plus a large advancement for expenses, and gave me the only clue she had, that Elsa had been seeing a boy named Roger Horner at the time she left home. When she paid, she leaned forward to let me get a good peak down her dress and ran her hand down my arm, trying to be coy. I'd like to say that it had no effect on me, I'd like to say that I was beyond that sort of thing. I'd also like to say that I didn't have a huge fucking boner in my pants. Those things would be fucking lies though.

End of Line.
Gerrad!