Another fun little 750 word story I did up for the "bodice ripper" competition. After this I was out of ways to use "it was a dark and horny night"

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It was hot, the sweltering kind of heat that smothers you like your fat auntie’s bosom when she hugs you too tight. No one does anything they don’t have to do when it gets like this, so business was down. Hell, who am I kidding, business was dead. Only reason I’m at the office is because this is where I stashed my last bottle of hooch. Nothing at home but empty soldiers and old memories.

Across the street the local lunatic started another argument with a parking meter. Atta boy, maybe this time it’ll let you get in the last word. I glanced out the window at the battle of dimwits. My money’s on the parking meter. The seedy theater across the way was in the middle of changing its sign. Must be Thursday, they always got in the new movies on Thursdays. Not I ever saw any of them, I prefer my dames in the flesh, not on the big screen. The titles though, those are always good for a laugh. “It was a dark and horny night.” Oh man, they’re getting worse. Maybe I should quit this job and get a gig writing adult film scripts; I bet the pay’s better. I down the last of my drink, pour another one before I have time to remember how many I’ve already had. Not like I’ve got a case to be solving anyway, and my landlord can’t find me here. Rent’s only two weeks late, he’s just gotta be patient. I always pay up—eventually.

I was half way through the bottle when I heard her coming up the hall. High heels on marble, there’s no sound like it in the world. Not that my dive of an office had marble floors, but work with me here. I tossed the bottle back in its drawer and popped a breath mint. Wishful thinking sure, but a man has to at least try and make a good impression. Her silhouette in the doorway held promise. Dark hair, long legs that didn’t know the meaning of the word quit and a sundress that was thin enough I could almost see paradise. Her face was hard to make out, but I had a feeling it was as good as the rest of the package.

“Mister Hamner?” She glanced around, sounding dubious. Can’t say I blame her, it’s a pretty dubious place at the best of times, and those times were long since gone.

“Mitch.” I stood and introduced myself. “Friends and beautiful women get to call me Mitch.”

She eyeballed me from head to toe like I was a roach in her salad, then sighed, a sad sigh. The sad ones make the best clients; they’ll pay you to make the hurting stop. “Alright Mitch. I need your services.”

“I’ll need a hundred up front as a retainer, fifty bucks per day plus expenses.” I pulled out a chair for her, even knocked the worst of the dust of the cushions first.

She stayed standing, still hidden framed by the doorway; that damn dress still distracting me. “Don’t you want to know what it is I need you to do first?”

I shrugged. “Short of killing a man or kicking a puppy, I’ll likely do anything you need.”

“I need you to find someone for me.”

“Lover? Boyfriend? Lost relative?”

“Husband.” She stepped into the office then, the flickering neon sign across the street finally showing her face. “I left him, but turns out, I want him back.”

I stared, dead memories don’t just walk into my office every day.

“Think you can find him for me? His name was Mitch Hamner.”

“I might know where he is.” I took her in my arms then, held her so close neither of us could breathe. Across the street, the lunatic started arguing with a phone booth. I hope he wins.