The Holmes Files: Roller Skate Roundup
by Robert Lubrican
Copyright 2010 Robert Lubrican
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I was sitting at my desk, wishing that the AC worked and that the wheezing fan that was feebly wafting air in my direction wasn't as old as I felt. It was hot, and it's always hotter when you don't have anything to do.
I'm Bob, I'm a private eye. I'm a good one, too, but that doesn't mean lots of people know it. The few who notice manage to pay the bills, but I'm not living the high life, if you get my drift. And, of course, I have this soft spot for good people in a bad fix. I usually didn't get any money from those jobs. I felt good...but good feelings don't pay the rent, if you know what I mean.
The faded brown paper on the walls of my ratty office seemed to press in on me, like in that play, The Haunting of Hill House. It was kind of creepy, and I'd just decided to take a little walk and see if there was some breeze out in the twilight, when I saw a dark silhouette appear in the pebbled glass pane of the door.
I watched the latch turn and rested my hand on the .45 holstered on my right hip.