Jade Monkey

My litany of curses barely remained sub-vocal. The body had not been dead long, there was no smell and rigor mortis hadn’t set in. I could have sworn that the curtain had moved earlier today when I stopped by. It would have been a lot of effort to drag a guy that big up a set of stairs as a dead weight. I didn’t know how he died. Poison maybe, or strangulation, he hadn’t been shot or stabbed that I could see. I didn’t dare turn the light on for a better inspection, or take my gloves off to check for wounds more thoroughly. I rifled his pockets but they were empty, someone else had got there first.

I went back downstairs and in to the front room. Perhaps this place had a cellar, that I hadn’t checked, or perhaps he’d got frightened when I dropped by earlier. It was while I was lost in my thoughts that the car pull up outside and someone got out. The Chinese Dragon grinned mockingly from his perch as I hurried to the window. Peering through the gap in the curtains I could see the car in the streetlights, but the person who’d got out was now in the shadows of the drive. The figure paused taking something from its pocket. A lighter flamed in the darkness and I found myself looking at a familiar face.

Once, long ago, we had been partners in a detective firm; it had ended very, very badly. She had tried to kill me on three separate occasions. If she saw me now, it would be four. Ice waltzed down my spine and I almost dropped my gun, which would have been both unfortunate and probably fatal.

She had pale skin and long, dark, luxuriant hair that chased down her back. She was slightly under medium height and was a few years older than me, I could never tell how many; though most of the time we were partners I felt she was younger than me. But it was her eyes that had always held my attention, when we were on a case or talking across the desks in our office, they were at the same time brown and golden, laughter danced there. They had a sense of wild wickedness and joyful exuberance that hid beneath that ever so calm, professional exterior. She hated me and wanted me dead.

I backed slowly away from the window suddenly feeling very sober and wishing fervently that I were elsewhere or that I at least had some silver bullets. I walked quickly to the front door and undid the latch. The best plan I had was to creep out of the front door while she came in through the back. I waited for the sound of the back door and made to slip out the door. There was the sound of a sharp indrawn breath, the coffee cup. Damn. I crashed out the door, slamming it closed behind me and ran down the drive. A guy sat in the car that she’d arrived in and was beginning to get out, his hand reaching for his pocket. I absently waved my gun in his direction and the guy half fell onto the road swearing as I turned to run up the road. In the distance a pair of headlights shone as a car turned down the street. I ran down the middle of the road towards it waving my hands in the air. There was a small thunderclap and a bullet and flew over my head. The car had stopped and I wrenched the door open and dived into the passenger seat. A pair of startled sapphire blue eyes looked back at me. The Archaeologist.

‘Go!’ I shouted.

‘What? That’s my house!’

‘No time for questions! Go!’

A bullet ricocheted off the road in front of us and Hannah looked back over her shoulder and threw the car into reverse. I rolled down the window and answered the shot with one of my own. As the car swerved back into a three-point turn I had a clear view down the road. The guy who had been in the car had now stood up and was trying to bring his gun to bear and beside him that oh so familiar figure had made it to the end of the drive. She looked at the car and met my gaze and I saw a flash of recognition in her eyes. I slumped down in my seat as Hannah floored the accelerator. The tires squealed on the road for a second before hurtling us away through the night. I was still alive, but inside I felt dead.