The cigarette smoke lined the roof of my fifth storey office as I looked down over Carcer City. Neon lights lit the main street up like flares while smaller white lights dotted the apartment blocks and suburb houses like fireflies among the rain. Of course, it wouldn't be Friday night without a gun shot or two ringing out. It was almost strangely serene as a police siren wailed like a banshee, quietening into nothing as it got further away from the city.

Carcer city was once a booming dock town. That was until the mob got their hands on it. Now a den of inequity. The gambling, hookers, strip joints and constant illegal deals made Vegas, the original city of sin, look like a retirement village.

I stubbed my cigarette into the ashtray and reached for the bottle of whiskey on my desk. Pouring myself a more than generous measure, I took a sip and sighed. My eyes trailed from the city to the one memory I had from my previous life. Above my filing cabinet was my old Carcer City PD badge. I was a cop, a good one at that too. A little rough around the edges and in the Captains office more times than I care to admit, but I got shit done. But, when Don Ribioti got his hands on the city and lined the CCPD's pockets with a little bit of cash, they became little more than puppets on the end of his strings, turning blind eyes to everything just for that extra bit of cash.

When I refused to dance to that song, I was given two options; severance pay out or dishonourable discharge. Hell, they planted evidence all the time at the Don's request, it wouldn't have been hard to pin me. I had friends on the force who told me to think about it, but even then, when I still refused. I became a bit of a black sheep. One or two of my oldest friends still spoke, but it was never about work.

So, I took the money and set up shop as a PI. In the early days, it was fun. It felt like policing again. But now, now the Don's fingers are so deep in the pie the only thing I get are cheating spouses. Keeps me in smokes and whisky though. Slumping into my chair, I span to face the city, loosened my shirt collar and lit up another smoke. Glancing at the clock, it was 10PM. About time to call it a night and catch a few drinks at Sally's bar.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

The door to my office was pounded and I reached for my gun as I spun on my chair to face the door.

I watched to see if it opened. It didn't.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK"

It wasn't the Don's men. They wouldn't have knocked once never mind twice.

"Who is it?" My gun trailing on the door under the desk. "It's not locked, you know."

The hammer came back on my pistol as I kept it pointing towards the door.

******

So. Who are you? A Madame wanting to know what's got your girls so scared? A wife wondering about her husband? An old flame? Anyone at all?

What I'm not looking for though, is a submissive writer. Just one look at your profile would tell you I'm submissive. So dominant or 'equal' preferred for the smutty scenes.

If you like what I wrote, feel free to message me and we'll talk it out a little longer.

No chat requests though, it sucks.