Silver's Detective Agency - Part One

Warning, this story contains themes of a lacy nature...

Silver's Detective Agency

By Hope Alexander

Of all the agencies, in all the world, she had to walk into mine. Jeans hanging off her hips, faded baggy t-shirt hiding any hint of a curve, plastic crocs clumping on the floor. Her mascara had been hastily applied and was running down her cheeks, mixed with her tears. Her double chin quivered slightly with her grief, her milky blue eyes looked out at me hopelessly through stringy blonde hair tainted with patches of mousy brown regrowth. She was a mess.

“Hello, Beautiful,” I smiled. Her look of surprise at the compliment was practically hilarious as I unfolded myself from my deep office chair and gestured for her to take a seat on the pink couch reserved for clients. She plopped down in the middle of it, wringing her hands and inspecting the polished wood floor.

“How can I help you?” I asked, perching my pinstripe suit clad posterior on the arm and smiling at her.

“He's cheating on me,” she said numbly.

“What can I do?” I asked, examining one of my well manicured fingers, already knowing the answer.

“I want proof. I want to take him for all he's got. I want him to hurt.” A glint of purpose was in her eyes as she looked up at me, ferocious desire to hurt the man who'd hurt her so terribly, the passion briefly recalling what must have been her beauty before the grind of child bearing and marriage sapped her of her passion for life.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jack Silver, private detective. It's a lot less glamorous than it sounds of course, most of my clientel are women and men just like the one currently occupying my couch. Nobody walks through that door for a good reason. This is a business built on deceit – but it's also an avenue to justice, which is why I enjoy my work so very very much.

I reached down and squeezed her pudgy shoulder reassuringly. “Don't you worry darling, we'll get the bastard,” I assured her, earning myself a watery smile. I picked up a pad and paper from the coffee table in front of us, my skirt hiking smoothly as I sat back down and crossed my slim stocking clad legs, enjoying the soft whisper of nylon and the way my slim calves formed a well heeled triangle, one black stiletto dangling from my elevated toe.

A glance over at the full length mirror saw me seated there looking as impeccable as ever, dark hair curling to my shoulders, my eyes tastefully though dramatically highlighted with earth tone eyeshadow to bring out the deep brown of my eyes and topped off with long lash mascara – a guy's best friend.

My newest client introduced herself as Angela, a 37 year old housewife from the 'burbs. He was cheating with his secretary. It was a story made all the more tragic by its sheer ordinariness.

“I'm going to sue him for everything. He'll never see the kids again.” She spat venom, anger taking over from grief.

“Of course darling. Now you go home and take a nice long bath and leave this to me.”

She left, an angry little lamb buoyed with the thought of revenge. I smiled as she stomped out the door. It was all too easy, another stake out, another set of high definition saucy pictures, another five figure settlement.

Pressing the intercom button, I called for my secretary. She came tottering in all blonde curls and giggles as usual. I pay the girl far too much, but she's cute, and that's good for morale.

“Erica, get me a drink would you?”

“Of course, Mr Silver,” she bobbed in a curtsy that held a hint of sarcasm. Don't ask me how she manages to move sarcastically, just take my word for it. If you ever meet her, you'll know what I mean.
I watched her prepare the drink through slightly narrowed eyes. She's been my secretary for three years now, and I swear she never tires of finding new ways to playfully irk her boss.

“Thank you dear, do you have those files I requested from John at the station?” I asked as she handed me my usual, a pink lady.

“Uhhmmm,” her blue eyes practically rolled up inside her head as she thought about the question.

“Yes!” she finally revealed with a bright smile.

“Send them on to me, please.” I stood and walked back to my desk, drink still in hand, dwarfing her petite figure with my 6'3 frame elevated even higher by the 2.5'' heels. She calls me 'the Giantess' behind my back, thinks I don't know about it. Really I need to do something about that girl.

For the moment however, I had bigger fish to fry. The files from John at the station were on a case highly relevant to my interests. Sitting down behind my desk, I swung my long legs up onto the corner of the table and waited, sipping at the drink.

True to form, the 'new email' icon soon flashed on screen, and a few well placed clicks later, I was looking at the digitsed representation of my latest quarry – the inimitable panty thief.