By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1370
Samuel rolled himself a smoke casually with one hand while adjusting the rear vision mirror of his midnight black Ford Falcon. The inside of the car already smelt like an old saloon at close time from the overflowing ashtray. If there was one thing Samuel hadn’t doing as a Private Investigator it was waiting. He had an active mind and needed to be doing something to keep from going crazy. Unfortunately, at an early age Samuel discovered cigarettes. He rolled his own, because that way it took up more time than those mass-produced, premade cancer sticks, and they tasted better anyway.
Sam could see the woman in green locking her front door and making her way down to the flash, silver Beemer in the driveway. The car was so well polished that it looked like the moon has fallen from the sky and landed right in front of this Bulimba mansion. The woman had a great figure, nice and tight, “tight like a tiger,” Gold Member from Austin Powers would say. She walked with all the grace of a royal princess and looked like she had the confidence of a woman who knew she could get anything she wanted, and when she wanted.
Sam ground out the rollie in the ashtray, pushing ash and old butts on to the floor as the tray overflowed. He started his motor and pulled out behind a slow moving Daihatsu, but that was ok for now. At least it would add to his cover and stop the broad from seeing him. The Daihatsu followed the Beemer for a couple of blocks before turning off toward Cannon Hill, leaving a tidy little space for Sam to keep open for some other car to fill, hopefully.
By the time they reached the Gabba, enough traffic had darted in an out of the safety zone for Sam to be confident that the lady in green was none the wiser about being followed. Sam waited until she had reached the door of the hotel before he hoped out of his car and quickly made his way behind her. He was far enough away so she wouldn’t see him, but close enough so he would not loose sight of her at any time.
The woman made her way to the bar and ordered a drink, a “Black Russian”, by the looks of it Sam thought to himself. She took a pearl covered cigarette case out of her Gucci handbag and lit it, menthol by the smell of it. Once the bartender handed the glass to the woman, she made her way to a table by the window facing Vulture Street.
Sam ordered a scotch and coke, minus the scotch. He had to appear to be drinking to not be out of place in a hotel like this but didn’t want to be the slightest bit intoxicated. The bartender raised one eyebrow, but poured the drink just as requested anyway. Sam pulled up a stool at the bar and looked at the television screen hanging on the wall a few feet from where the broad sat. MTV, greatest hits of the eighties by the looks of it, Sam thought to himself. It was only 1992, but things had changed a lot since the turn of the decade, and none of them for the better. At least there was less “hair bands” around now, even if the music still sounded the same.
Sam opened his tobacco pouch and rolled himself another cigarette, casually checking the photo in his pouch at the same time. He flicked it over and read the name again – Sarah White. She was wearing a green dress in the photo that her husband gave him at his office two weeks ago. Sam thought “Poison Ivy,” to himself.
“Can I buy you a drink, big fella?”
Sam looked up and was surprised to see the woman in the photo standing right next to him. Sam wondered how she could move so fast, only a second ago she was ten feet away. With a subtle turn of his wrist, Sam slide the photo back into the tobacco pouch, glad that it was writing side up when the woman approached. As it was, he had a good idea that somehow, his cover had been blown and the woman in green had made him.
“Sure doll.” Sam said, taking a long pull of his scotch and coke.
“Same again, please.” She said to the bartender, pointing to Sam’s empty glass with her own empty. Sam noticed that the bartender did put scotch into his coke glass this time. He was glad the guy was on the ball and didn’t cause an embarrassing situation by neglecting the scotch in his scotch and coke this time.
“Does this place liven up?” Sam asked.
“For you sugar, it already has.” She said, winking at Sam as she held out her hand. “My name is Ivy, Ivy Bloomfield.”
Sam thought this broad was having fun at his expense now, but how did she know he called her Poison Ivy in his mind. He must be on edge because she had made first contact.
“Pleased to meet you, Ivy,” Sam said, putting out his hand to shake hers. “Dwayne Rockwell.”
Sam made small talk with Sarah for an hour or so before she put her moves on him. This was what Sarah’s husband has suspected her of doing and what Sam was being paid to find out. Sam hadn’t ever had this happen to him before, he knew he was good looking, so it would be unfair to any broad for him to walk up and try and pick her up. I mean, who wouldn’t want to pick him up. It would not mean a damn thing by the way of proof in his books. He needed hard evidence.
“So how would you like to come back to my place to finish the night off with a bang honey?” Sarah said seductively.
Sam noticed that she still had her wedding ring on and nodded towards the shining mother of a jewel.
“What about your husband?”
“Oh, we divorced two years ago. I just love this rock and can’t bear to take it off.”
Sam was in a dilemma now, if he refused, he would not be able to tail her again without it being obvious. If he accepted, he just wouldn’t feel right and wouldn’t be able to let Sarah’s husband know about her infidelities with a clear conscience. Big stakes to split, Sam thought to himself. Ten grand in the pocket or down the toilet. He did not like the look of Sarah’s husband and thought about blowing the case off, maybe he deserved it anyway.
“Ok, let’s catch a cab.”
By the time they arrived at Sarah’s mansion, Sam looked like he had been savaged by a wild beast. Scarlet red lipstick stained his collar and neck, appearing like a vampire had made a snack on his neck. A bloody messy vampire at that.
“Come in.” Sarah said, opening the heavy oak front door.
Sarah began undressing as she walked towards the large circular leather couch, shedding them like a snake shedding it’s unwanted skin. Sam walked towards the now, near naked woman and could feel himself becoming aroused. He would have to wrap this up soon, he thought to himself. It was getting to dangerous.
“Come her, sugar.”
Sam walk standing next to the couch now. Sarah was laying there with only her panties on. She leaned forward and then…
Sam blinked. To his right a burly and tanned man in a cheap suit standing with a camera in his hand.
“Now,” Sarah said. “If you don’t want your wife to find out you are having an affair, then drop this case you dick.”
Sam thought about chasing the private eye in the cheap suit down but it was already too late for that. He had disappeared into down a set of stairs and was probably already starting up his car now.
“You got me good Ivy,” Sam said to the broad. “How about making it worth my while if I am going to get framed?”
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