I breathed in; the lily was from my dead lover. Crime was at an all-time high in Newcago. The cops closed their doors at 5. I was on at 6. As a private detective, I didn’t have the luxury of bars to hide behind. I wasn’t afraid of their bullets. Hell, she’d taken one for me. Her last drops of blood had pulsed onto my white carpet.
“Don’t stop fighting for decency…” Her last words.
I heard screaming on the street below. Only the bad guys had guns or knives anymore, but I had smarts and my secret weapon, from her…
The above photograph by Lora Mitchell is our photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff- Fields. I made the photograph black and white to give a more Noir feel.