She had a face like an angel, a purse full of blood money, and a dead man’s name on her lips.
The Red Circle
The dart bit into the wall, a fraction of an inch from the bleeding eye of the red marker circle. I was reaching for the third feather when the frosted glass of my office door rattled.
Then she walked in. One hundred and twenty pounds of absolute dynamite, wrapped in a trench coat that cost more than my monthly retainer. Her eyes were a cold, calculated storm. She didn’t look at the peeling wallpaper or the dust dancing in the afternoon light. She looked straight at me. She knew exactly what I was. The papers called me a butcher with a badge; a PI who treated bones like kindling.
“Mr. Seroni,” she said. Her voice was like silk dragging over gravel.
“The sign says open,” I replied, leaning back till my chair groaned. “But the look on your face says trouble.”
She didn’t waste time. She reached into her leather purse, pulled out a thick, banded stack of hundreds, and dropped it onto the desk. It landed with a heavy, dead thud. Right on top of my old racing forms.
“My husband,” she whispered, leaning in. The scent of expensive jasmine and cheap desperation filled the space between us. “I need him gone. Permanently. And I was told you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
I looked at the cash. It was enough to buy a new life, or at least a better grade of bourbon. Then I looked at her. Beautiful. Lethal. A fuse waiting for a match.
“Murder is a heavy lift, lady,” I murmured, my hand drifting toward the desk drawer where my .38 slept.
She smiled, a sharp, humorless edge. “I think you’ll find you have the leverage.”
How does Matt’s story end? Does he take the blood money, or does the lady find out just how violent Seroni can truly get? Write the final twist and finish the story.
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