Private Investigations

Private Investigations
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 336

“You know, your ranting has given me an idea. Here’s how I think we can fix this mess,” Dirk said to the Trudy Swingswell, reclining suggestively in the office chair in front of his desk.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much Mr.Pensville,” she said in a husky voice.

“Dirk, ma’am. Call me Dirk. I think we’re passed the formality now.”

The office was dimly lit and smoke swelled around from the cigarette. Outside the night was cold and uninviting, with a soft chilling drizzling rain showering the trash strewn street. Dirk swung towards the window, looked through it intensely.
“We’re going to have to frame your husband,” he said emotionlessly. “Ain’t no doubt about it?”

A thudding on the floor behind the couch threw a spanner in this plan. Trudy’s husband rose from the floor, blood oozing from the bullet hole in his throat. He turned to face his wife and the private investigator menacingly.

“I’m going to have to charge extra for this ma’am,” Dirk said, pulling a revolver from the desk drawer.

Trudy’s husband fell over the couch, scramble to his feet and lunged at Trudy. Dirk shot him in the chest twice.

“Arrrghhh,” he yelled, jerking backward and tearing a piece of flesh from Trudy’s face.

Blood sprayed on Dirk’s face stinging his eyes with the salty red fluid. Trudy’s husband to leap over the table and claw at him like a rabid beast. Dirk shot blindly, hitting Trudy in the chest with one shot and blew the ceiling light out with the other.

The office door crashed in, followed by a swat team. Torchlight flashed across the room, illuminating the undead face of Trudy’s husband feasting on his wife’s breasts. In the small beams of light, Dirk looked as though he had feasted on flesh too, with blood running down his face.

“Take them down,” an officer yelled.

In a fury of muzzle fire and torchlight, bullets tore through Dirk, Trudy and the only zombie in the room. This was one case that Dirk would not be solving for anyone.