She was bad news, that’s what she was, with legs that reached all the way up to her baby blues and a switchblade in her goddamn purse. You know the kind I mean.
I knew I was in trouble from the moment she walked into my office.
Her voice was deep, for a dame, smoky, but sexy.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Bunny. Bunny Davenport. I need your help.”
“Bunny? Like rabbits? What kinda name is that anyway?”
“They say you’re the best private investigator in town.”
“And who are they exactly?”
“Oh, you know. People.”
“What can I do for you Miss Rabbit?” I lit up a cigar, leaning back to take her in.
“It’s my husband…”
There was always a husband.
“...he’s missing. I think he’s dead.”
“Oh? You don’t think he just up and walked out on you then?”
“Oh he’d never do that. He’s dead, I just know it. Please, Mr McLeod, I need you to help me find out what happened to him.”
She leaned across my desk and put her small, slender little hand on my big old hairy one and I was helpless.
“Ok, just saying I help you - I don’t come cheap…”
“Don’t worry about that, I’m a very wealthy woman. Money is no problem.”
Rich and beautiful. My kind of woman. I took a mouthful of smoke and blew it out slowly.
“Where was he the last time you saw him?”
“He has this - work room - at the bottom of our gardens. He spends hours there. I took him some coffee late Wednesday afternoon and I haven’t seen him since. You’ll want to see it, of course. I have my car - it’s right outside. I can take you there now.”
“It’s a good job I like fast women,” I told her. I stubbed out my cigar and followed her downstairs.
She slid into the driver’s seat of her AC Cobra like a silk scarf slides off a chair. I climbed in the passenger side and got an eyeful of those beautiful legs. She caught me looking and I saw her smile as she started the engine.
Her place wasn’t far. A couple of blocks maybe, but what a place. Three storeys and a garden I couldn’t see the end of. She poured me a whisky and took me straight down to the husband’s work room.
It was one of those old bunkers with those heavy metal doors. She slid the bolt over and stepped aside to let me in ahead of her. I had to duck to get in through the door.
“Short guy, your husband - ?” I started to say, when the door slammed right in my face.
Before I could force it back on her I heard that heavy bolt draw back across and the tap tap of her heels as she walked away. I was in a predicament and no mistake.
I found the husband alright. He was in there with me, all seven pieces of him stacked neatly on the floor beside the circular saw.
I took a gulp of whisky to steady my nerves and to plan my next move.
And that’s when the lights went out...