Today’s offering is a mystery. I could come back to it later to solve it. But then again, that might violate the idea of self-contained 100 word fictions if I start having chapters that fit together. So maybe we’ll never know.
The flickering chiaroscuro of night traffic through half-shut blinds was scant distraction from Frank Jamison’s mood. Here he was: the best PI in town, and the cases weren’t coming in.
No grisly murders, no gambling scams, No stolen jewels… not even a lousy adulterer for weeks.
It wasn’t that anyone else was solving the crime: the cops were as corrupt and bumbling as ever. It just wasn’t happening anymore.
Everyone seemed so…content, placid, even docile. The sheer maverick creativity needed for crime was dying out.
It was a mystery. And mysteries were Frank Jamison’s forte…
He got to work.
Tom Juniper Poetry 