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I flicked the ash off my cigarette, the familiar scent I associate with a choking sensation surrounding me. It was my own fault; foxes weren’t supposed to smoke. But I did a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to do.
I surveyed the city before me through my wide window. The lights behind me were turned off to reduce reflection, and because I liked the dark. I wasn’t in the penthouse—even I couldn’t afford it up there—but I was high enough to get a good view of the surrounding city, which was currently stuck under the gaze of the moon. It gave me enough time to see threats before they became my problem.
The detective’s office was a good front, if one could call it that. I’ll confess, I enjoyed investigating crimes which I had orchestrated. It gave me a thrill the little robberies couldn’t anymore.
I walked a lap around the room, straightening a tie which sat on the couch. My assistant, a short fellow I called Boots for his signature look and quick feet, was as good a sleeper agent as any. He’d been working a job for years now, and nobody had caught on.
I checked the time and decided it was safe to leave. Always did try to take precautions, but even I would fudge my own rules on occasion. That was when the door cracked open.
Instinctively, I reached for my gun. I couldn’t afford to get caught, not after I’d built myself up from a den in the countryside. I looked closer at the intruder.
“Oh, thank God. Boots, ya scared me.” I tossed my gun across the room, the hairs on my back resting again. “Wanna talk? I got the ingredients for a gin and tonic in the other room.” I invited my old friend in, but he stood still in the doorway.
“Ey, Boots, what’s the matter?” I tried to be jovial, but the fellow was beginning to give me the creeps.
Before Boots could answer my question, a shadow entered the light streaming through the doorway. “Can you say, ‘Dios mio’ ?”
“No, I can’t, you annoying freak.” I hissed. “Boots? Did she put you up to this?!”
“Oh, he’s on my side. Always has been.” Dora entered the room. She was an odd dame, opting for a simple shirt and shorts over the typical getup—stilettos and a long, long dress.
Boots looked at me, silent as ever.
Dora approached me. “So, you want the hero’s death or the coward’s death?”
“I’d rather have the escape, if that’s still in the cards.” I tried to back up, but I was already against the wall.”
“Well then,” Dora smiled, raising an umbrella she had retrieved from her backpack. “Swiper, no swiping.”
Everything went black.