[ WP ] A detective makes a deal with Death . He has 48 hours to discover the who , what and why of a murder case , and if he does he can bring the victim back .

The cigarette smoke curled lazily up towards the ceiling and I watched it twist and curl as it sat in the ashtray. I took a long drag on my cigarette and exhaled slowly, and watched the smoke leave my mouth and fill the already hazy office. I stared down hard at the cigarette in the ashtray, freshly lit and the one I was supposed to be smoking; at least that had been the plan until the dame walked into my office, Jack Mason, P.I. The dame had been unexpected, and I had made a mistake. I didn ’ t like making mistakes so early in a job because it usually meant that I was going to wind up paying the doctor another 2am call after being freshly ventilated by a 2 cent hoodlum. 
 
 I had three reasons including the cigarette for why I didn ’ t like the broad sitting across from me. The second reason involved my booked solid evening with a half-empty bottle of bourbon and the dirty glass I kept in my lower desk drawer beside my.38 special. I had a hot date with that bourbon, and I didn ’ t appreciate having to cancel. 
 
 The third reason I didn ’ t like the broad had nothing to do with how she was dressed or her demeanor. She was wearing a modest skirt, floral blouse with a matching hat and a cute little lace number pulled over her eyes. Her gloves were lily white, just like her modesty, and her body would make a grown man sweat; I know because I was looking at it. 
 
 Unfortunately, I also knew that she was dead; hence the cigarette. Big Tom Caldwell, the Sparrow, had worked her over good when he found out she was planning to sing a pretty little song to the judge about his import-export business. I ’ m sure it would ’ ve been quite the performance, but Caldwell sent two men to buy out all the tickets, and her last performance was to an empty ally and a stray cat. Not quite the star-studded venue she had hoped for, I ’ m sure. 
 
 At least, that ’ s what the black market rumor mill was saying, and I had bought it up till ten minutes ago, when she rolled into my office like a moonlit fog in a bad horror flick. All flash, and flare, and foreboding, but I hoped without any substance. I resisted the urge to see if I could throw something through her. 
 
 I put the cigarette down and reached down to the drawer where my date lay waiting patiently. “ So Judy, ” I began tentatively, “ What brings you here? ” 
 
 “ Hello Jack, ” she finally said; her voice a coarse whisper. I figured it must ’ ve been the work-over her larynx got before she sang her last so I smiled politely and waited for her to continue. After a moment, she did, “ Is that all you have to say to me, ‘ What brings you here? ’ ” 
 
 Finding the bottle and glass, I pulled them both out and poured myself a healthy level. I paused briefly and considered that, given the circumstances, I should probably be watching my health, so I poured a bit more. “ I ’ m not sure what else I should be saying, Judy. ” 
 
 “ You could always try, ‘ Hi Jude, how ’ s my little match-head doing? ’ ” She smiled, and I could just make out her smile underneath the lace face-cover. I grimaced. Her teeth were cracked, and I finally decided that it wasn ’ t a new shade of lipstick smeared across her lips. 
 
 “ Alright, ‘ Hi Jude, how ’ s my little match-head doing, ’ ” I whispered as I took a strong sip of my medicine. 
 
 “ Better, but it still leaves a lot to be desired, ” she said as she slowly reached into her purse. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and fiddled with the package. After a moment, she pulled one out, held it out towards me, and added, “ Got a light? ” 
 
 I picked up the lighter and calmly lit her cigarette, trying with everything in my being to not have my hands shake like some cop fresh on the beat. I had seen some weird stuff in my time, but I did have to admit that this one was new. She puffed for a moment on the cigarette before leaning away and looking up at me, “ I have a job for you, Jack. ” 
 
 “ So do most people who walk through that door, ” I said coldly, “ But how can you have a job for me, Jude, you ’ re dead. ” I puffed again on my own cigarette as I eyed her suspiciously. She continued to sit, and so I again ran through my mind that perhaps this was just a good make-up job and a sick joke by one of the boys back when I was on the force. Hell, I could even see this being some sort of gag by ole Johnny back in the old platoon; he always had a sick sense of humor. 
 
 “ Am I? ” she finally asked coyly, the rasp to her voice giving it a bigger air of gravitas than I ’ m sure she had intended. 
 
 I leaned forward in my chair and stubbed out my half-finished cigarette. Then I picked up the glass of medicine, and downed the rest of the bourbon. Pouring myself another full measure, I pulled out another cigarette and lit that one up, hoping for a fresh taste. 
 
 I jabbed my finger in her direction and spoke harshly, “ Look, Jude, or whoever you are, sure we had a good thing going, but then you chose to sing for the judge on Big Tom and he smoked you. ” I took a long drag and lowered my voice, “ Used your head like the tympani from the London Symphony; heard it was quite the number he played in that alley. So whoever, or whatever you are, please get the hell out of my office. ” 
 
 We both sat there in silence for several minutes before she slowly reached up with her hand and pulled back the veil over her face. I gasped; it was Judy, there was no mistaking it. No amount of make-up job could disguise someone else like her. The only thing was that her eyes were different, and that exotic Irish green was replaced by a dull black. 
 
 “ You ’ re wrong about something, Jack, ” she whispered as small flecks of blood flew out of her mouth and oozed at the corners of her mouth. That was when I realized the veil hadn ’ t been to trick me; it had been to keep the blood off the floor. “ Big Tom didn ’ t have me killed. ” 
 
 I stuttered for a few moments before I found words, but even those came difficult, “ But—but I—but Jude that ’ s just impossible. Word on the street is Big Tom ordered your hit for going two-faced. 5,000 bucks was placed on your head and somebody cashed in on it. ” 
 
 “ But it wasn ’ t Big Tom, ” she said as she took a long drag on her cigarette, leaving more lipstick on the butt. 
 
 “ Then who else? What else were you involved in, Judy, ” I demanded as I stood up and leaned over the desk at her. “ You were one of his girls, working in the bars; you and I both know that, so who else could ’ ve ordered the hit? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t know, Jack, ” she whispered, “ I just know it wasn ’ t Big Tom. ” 
 
 “ How don ’ t you know? ” I shouted, becoming frustrated with the entire situation. I was talking to a dead dame who was telling me she wasn ’ t killed by the person who killed her but someone else who apparently wanted her dead in some sort of shadow-play-I-don ’ t-know-what. 
 
 Another drag, another puff of smoke, and she finally said, “ I don ’ t know because I ’ m not Judy. Not really at least. I ’ m only partially here. ” I sat back down and waited as she continued, “ I have a deal to offer you; from Death. ” 
 
 “ Death? As in, Grim Reaper, Death? ” 
 
 “ The same one. He is giving you the chance to find out who really killed me, and he will bring me back to life in return. ” She smiled and looked up at me, and I couldn ’ t help but shudder slightly at the darkness of her eyes. 
 
 “ Free and clear? ” I asked, scratching my chin to distract myself. 
 
 “ Free and clear, ” she whispered. 
 
 I nodded for a moment, and mulled it over; an offer to bring back the lovely Judy, my number one gal, and have another chance at that happy life we had dreamed about before she died in that alley. This was entirely too good to be true, or somebody had slipped some opium into my bourbon without me noticing. “ So what ’ s the catch, ” I finally asked. 
 
 “ You only have 48 hours, ” she said even more quietly than usual. 
 
 I blanched to be perfectly honest. It was hard to set up a good henchman workover without at least 24 hours ’ notice, and Death had only give me 48 to solve this crime to get my girl back? Something smelled rotten, so I turned over the lid to find out what, “ Why? Why would Death make ME this offer? What ’ s in it for him? ” 
 
 Judy frowned and dragged on the last of her cigarette. She reached over into the ashtray and gently stubbed it out before she looked up at me again, “ Because someone found something they weren ’ t supposed to, ever, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Death is afraid. He ’ s making you this deal because you ’ re the only one with any interest in putting a stop to it. ” 
 
 I mulled it over for a moment, and decided she might be right. Judy was an estranged orphan, both her parents died during the War on a torpedoed hospital boat; no other real family. I also couldn ’ t deny my interest; dead people asking me to take a case from Death himself? What other surprises awaited me in the dark alleyways? What sort of mess was I getting wrapped up into? 
 
 “ Alright, ” I finally whispered, “ I ’ ll take the case. ” 
 
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 r/grenadiere42
