He woke up next to an empty teacup. His mouth was as fuzzy as his memory. He looked around at the room, a dog’s breakfast of broken furniture pieces, scattered papers and a flipped battered filing cabinet. Whoever they were, they had been looking for answers. It left a grumbling dread in his stomach to match the taste in his mouth – ashes of kisses and regrets as smokey as a Turkish rug after a fire sale.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. He had been gnawing away at the clues for days, while his gut said it was as simple as a little black dress and red lipstick. Every lead had him running in circles and tailed by shadowy guys trying to collar him with the goods. All he had to show for it was the fading scent of perfume that lingered like midnight moonshine, and an ache in his heart that was a dusty spider web of pain that clung on past yesterday’s bitter black coffee. It was all there in the stark grey light of morning, if he didn’t bring her in and retrieve the jewels today, he would have the biscuit.
Dark Pines Photo 