Consulting Noir

The room. Our hero takes a quick look around. He glances at his watch. Grimaces. The dial grimaces back. They're late.

The desk. Shadows filter in from the blinds to make a pale chiaroscuro in shades of sepia.

The phone. Lying harmless on the desk. Quiet. He waits for the shrill ring to cleave through the heavy silence.

The phone obliges. It screeches like a banshee. He lets it. Three rings go by. He strangles the fourth.

"AF here. What's the market?"
"I don't really know", comes the response.

"Where's the money going?"
"I don't really know", comes the response.

"Where's the leak? Where'd we screw it up?"
"We aren't sure", comes the response.

AF's grip on the receiver tightens ever so slightly. The room seems smaller. His tie is too tight.

"I'll get back to you". He disconnects. The flat dial tone hangs in the air as if in suspended animation. He turns and walks out in disgust. Another case with no leads. He's on his own again.

"Clients", he mutters, thinking to himself. A black mood descends like a moonless night.

A concerned co-worker stops him. "Need a hand with something?"

He looks incredulous. His face freezes into a macabre grin as he rasps the order.

"Fetch me my shotgun"

To be continued