A typical prostitute



1. A typical prostitute

I like this place. It is a downtown diner. It is oldschool and bleak. A place for every someone, who has lost his love of life to sit and enjoy a cup of burning, black coffee and the sight of superficial couples with perverted intentions sitting in the sultry corners.
I watch another suited man, who is in my line of vision. He is checking his watch every second minute and drumming on the bar with his fingers. He's expecting someone. From his dark suit I must conclude, it is a very seductive woman.
There she comes wearing a sexy red dress. A big fire of red curls waves down her back, as she drowsily slides down on the chair beside him. He greets her, and then none of them look at each other, while she speaks in a low voice, so that no other guest will notice. She lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke very sophistically. I take a sip of my not-so-hot-anymore-coffee not letting her out of my sight. A typical prostitute; those women are horny liars. Not to trust. She leans against him and whispers something in his ear. She is probably offering herself for free. Tonight it's for free honey. She hands him a note, barely touching him, and he takes it still staring straight forward. But I am no fool – I know what is happening. They are planning a crime, and I am going to be the policeman to destroy it.
When her smoke is finished, she leaves the diner, and the place does not ooze as much of sex anymore. It does not take him long to do the same. To leave.
I pay my bill, stand up and put a cigar in my mouth. When I pass their empty seats, I spot the piece of paper on the bar. It is a destination and time. Unwise to leave it here.

It is almost too easy to find this place. I would have picked somewhere less visible to do illegal business like these. Even though it is midtown, it is not very crowded. Actually I am the only one standing in the lobby except from the formally dressed receptionist.
If the note was not false, they were supposed to meet half an hour ago. So I guess they are hitting it of right now. It excites me that I am about to catch them in the act.



“That’s a cop over there. He’s watching us. Pretend you don’t know me,” she whispers. He pretends pretty well; he does not look at her at all. “Here,” she hands him a lap of paper with a destination and time. She is barely touching him. No one can know about their relationship.
“It’s a nice place,” he emphasizes when she lets him in. “Well, it’s for us, you know.” She smiles eloquently and touches the bare skin on her thigh, obviously flirting. “Show me the documents, and I’ll put you up on that offer.” She hands him a glass of whisky and then the documents, and he hastily skims it through. “Mhm,” he mumbles. ”I can live with that,” and then he throws some very important information on the table, steps forward and kisses her intensely. “Wait, I have to go to the bathroom first.” She leaves him a minute. Meanwhile he puts some poison in her glass. Poison to kill her. When she comes back, she drinks up. He kisses her again, even more passionately than before. She drops her glass on the floor in excitement. They continue kissing on the bed tearing each other’s clothes of. Suddenly she leans back and angles something sharp from her garter, and right away she runs it through his neck, so the blood spurts out all over the white sheets.



When I stand in the hallway outside the hotel room door, I consider how I am going to do this. It is not every day, these days, that you get the change to impress the police commissioner.
It is quite silent in there; I wonder what they are doing. Carefully I turn the handle gently and open the door. It is a nice suite, very stylish. On a table in the middle of the room there are some documents. My intentions are to read them, but on my way towards the floor I step in something, maybe glass. I cringe inwardly by the sound of shattered glass, and suddenly some noise in another room calls on my attention. 
I meet a shocking sight of blood stains on crinkled sheets and the red-haired woman lying dead. What happened here?


She did not hit his neck, and he fiercely grabs around her slight wrists to struggle against her. But she is an easy target because of the poison running in her veins, and she falls aside. Dead. He tears of a piece of her red dress and ties it round his neck to stop the bleeding. He lightens a cigar and smokes it comfortably laid-back, enjoying his victory.  Suddenly someone is coming; he can hear them coming from the other room. The police, maybe. He hurries to flee, forgets the important documents, and without a trace he disappears out of the window and into the night.

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