Dating : Violet Dahlia (part 1)

It was a night like any other, when she walked through my door. She was statuesque with short mussed hair. It was intentional, a wake and wear sort of look. Her brown eyes told stories of a sorrowed past, while her lips spoke of memories yet to come.

“What can I do for you on this hot and balmy evening?”

“I need you to find my killer?”

It came out so easy and relaxed that I thought it must be a joke.

“Your killer? Don’t you mean, a killer?”

“I said what I mean. It must seem odd coming from a woman that is standing right in front of you, but the deed hasn’t been done yet.”

I was lost so deep in the forest that I couldn’t find a way past my own hand.

“The deed hasn’t been done yet?”

“Yet? I think you have more of a story to tell. Have a seat and let’s start from the beginning.”

She walked over to the chair in front of my desk, each long leg only taking two strides to cross the expanse. She was demure when she sat with her right leg over her left, and hands crossed in her lap.

“I’m not dead yet, but I soon will be. I suspect that my husband has sent a killer for me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I found out about his mistress.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around then?”

“I guess it should be, but he beat me to the punch.”

She spoke with a cold calculation that wreaked of murderous intent with those final syllables. If it were a hand written letter, the ink would be blood.

“I can find your murderer, but what’s in it for me?”

“I’ll pay your fee, and then some.”

“How am I to collect if you are dead?”

“I will give you half now, with the other half in an undisclosed location. I will send instructions through the mail on how to find it. If you can find my killer before he finds me, I’ll double the remaining amount. That’s three times your fee.”

I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and times have been tough lately. The private dick business has all but dried up in recent months, and my bank account was causing moths to starve.

“I’ll find your killer, and I’ll do it before he even gets close enough to smell the lilac perfume you are wearing.”

I noticed it the second she walked through the door. The smell was as intoxicating as those lips. I was hoping beyond hope that I could be one of those memories.

She reached into the clutch on her lap and pulled out an envelope. It was thick and bulging with bills. I could see them through the opened flap. I thought she was going to peel a few off for my usual fee, but she slid the envelope onto my desk.

“Mr. Silverman, I’m sure this will cover half your fee.”

“Please, call me Sly. That will more than cover my fee. That will cover my fee 9, maybe 10 times over. Did you come to the right PI?”

“Sly Silverman isthe name on the door, so I must be in the right place. The money will be well spent, and as I said. You will see twice as much if you finish the job before I die.”

“Consider it done, but before you take a dirt nap, can I get your name, so I know who I’m dealing with?”

“My name is Violet. Violet Dahlia.”

That name rang a bell. A chime that reverberated through my head until I had to shake it out.

“Dahlia, as in Marcus Dahlia’s wife?”

“One and the same.”

Marcus Dahlia was the biggest crime boss this side of the Mississippi, and then he was nearly the biggest on the other side. His fingers were in more pies than a school boy raiding his mother’s windowsill.

“This just got interesting.”

“From the look on your face, I assumed it was interesting when I walked through the door.”

She had me pegged.

“Quilty as charged.”

“Find my killer and help me take down my husband, and that interest will be paid with dividends.”

Just like that, she rose with the grace of a ballerina, and strode out the door. Two strides and she was gone just as she had entered.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have turned that job down, and let some other sucker get pulled into this twisted world that belongs to Dahlia. While I still have time, I’ll tell you exactly how it went down.