A.G.E's Joint

 The reflected light from the pink moon reflected gave the table an eerie glow as she gets into the Range Rover. The car fits her. Both are high maintenance, high strung machines. The slight aroma of Chanel lingered. Old-fashioned for someone her age. Thinking back, the sundress was a 1960s clone, too. An off-white number with small daisies.  The hour and a half I spent was profitable to say the least. I got the job. But not her name. Making love to my beer, I look out over the water. I'm not sure what to make of her or the situation. Claims poverty and delivers cash. Something was off. The envelope containing the target information was still on the table. It could wait until I get home. Too many people here who could tie the pieces together. Draining the glass, I pay the tab with one of the hundreds, putting the rest in my jacket. The clock on the wall blinked 9:30. Time to go home. Driving down 85, I thought about what the Cad, as she called him, might look like. Given he'd ...

On the surface, it was a normal client meeting at the Dockside Cafe, sitting on the patio making small talk. It wasn't. The Hazel eyes told a story. It was my job to find out what it was.  The server came with our drinks, beer for me, vodka and cranberry for her.  Over her shoulder,  a baseball game silently flickered over the bar. She might have been forty in a flowered sundress with a red carnation in her hair. The pink tints in her hair clashed. But who was I to judge? It was a possible job and the rent was due. The project was simple. Her estranged husband had hidden assets and she wanted me to find them. Usually, I was hired by an attorney for this kind of work, not directly by the client. When I told her, the excuse was she didn't trust the lawyer to do it. He was lazy. I'd heard this before. It made me wonder if was her stealing. I made a mental note to do an NCIC check if I took the job. An Aiding and Abetting charge would not make my day. As the sun sank close ...

It was raining in Pretentious Acres. Yeah, I know. You aren't supposed to start a story with a weather report. So sue me. It could be worse. I could be this is where the murder's began. But they don't. It's just a run of the mill adultery investigation. I’m an ex-cop and current private eye sitting in an oak tree across the street from my target, playing Peeping Tom with the woman in the window . Maybe I won't get washed away in the process. My scene is a standard five-four-and-a door with a brick colonial at the end of a cul-de-sac. You know, the Great American Dream planted like so much seed crop. A single tree in the front matches with a privacy fence in the back. Even the black Audi pulling into the driveway fits. According to my client, it also comes Maria the wife and two teen aged daughters, both of whom are both Counselors at a summer camp upstate. My client thinks his Maria is having fun. So, how do you solve a problem like Maria? you hire me ...

Yellow freighter came aside the President Street dock just before dawn. A shore crew took the bow lanyard, securing it to dock and quickly followed that with the stern. Stevedores prepped the cranes to begin the offlload when the Chief realized something was amiss. No Captain or Crew, just stacks of cargo containers piled high over the gunnels and a small flat screened kiosk at the top of the gangway. Without a touch, the screen lit up and scrolled the following message: "I am De Vilengende Hollander, the latest in Cargo ships. Instead of a boat with no port, I am a boat with no crew. Swap my cargo so I may proceed." The galley cranes followed the command and killed the crew. Another port taken over. https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/