Jay Walking

The layers of smoke filled the room like waves of a dirty, dusty fog that the wind could never quite blow away. It didn’t keep me from watching her. She sat on the red cushioned bar stool with a girlie drink in one hand and a long, slim smoldering cigarette in the other. Probably one of those light numbers, extra long so you get as much nicotine as the regular ones. No doubt a menthol.

Her long, shapely legs caught the admiring attention of more than one gentleman in the room. Each one desiring to slide up next to her at the bar, hoping to slip out the back door with her and find themselves in a torrent of passion between the sheets. I know. I was one of them.

The years of heavy smoking and excessive drinking didn’t give her away. Her figure didn’t give her up either. I’d never met a women her age that looked so damn good. Make up not too heavy. Hair color just right. Short skirt and scooping neckline all working together to hide what most of the young men in the bar would consider old. If they only knew.

But I was on the job. I had to be objective. I had to stay focused on the task at hand. She didn’t act like a recent widow. Shit it was less than 24 hours. Her behavior was, to say the least, suspicious.

Her husband hired me to find out which one of the poor slobs she’d been sleeping with. He knew she’d been fooling around. Just wanted to find out which one and teach him a bit of a message he said. I didn’t have the heart to tell him she played the field. And she played it well.

Poor bastard. He didn’t know he’d be hit by a truck barreling down Main Street. Jay walking is illegal in this town. Now we know why. There was no clue that he’d be mangled almost beyond recognition with his lunch of a Herman’s Deli special Ham and Cheese on Rye oozing out of his gut.

Normally I’m a stickler for the law. After all, if you can’t trust your P.I. to deal with you honestly, who can you trust. Usually, I’m a pretty trust worthy fellow. Poor, poor bastard. He didn’t know his wife had offered me a better deal—a roll in the hay. He didn’t know I was the one behind the steering wheel of the speeding truck. Didn’t know what hit him.

Jay Walking

Karirose

Joined February 2008

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