Private Eye (DudeMeister and Jellyfish)

[DudeMeister]

Samuel Marlow pulled up to the apartment building where he agreed to meet his prospective client. She said it was important, a matter of life and death. He heard that more then once from disgruntled women asking him to tail their husbands in an attempt to uncover proof that they were cheating on him. Usually they were right, but he did his job, took a few photos, and called it a day. At this point he would do any sort of job. He owed two months back rent. As he pulled the key out of the ignition he reached into his glove compartment for his flask of whiskey, looking around to make sure there were no boys in blue to haul his ass in for drinking. Not that it would matter much. The cops had their hands full raiding speakeasies, and most of them were Irish anyways. Seeing that the coast was clear, he uncapped his flask and took a large swig.

He got out of his car a moment latter, creasing the top of his black fedora with the edge of his hand before placing it on his head. Sam stood 6'2'', had neat black hair, and piercing blue eyes. He had a rather handsome mug, despite the slight signs of pugilistic beauty marks that calcified his forehead and brows slightly. Old momentos of his boxing days He wore a black business suit underneath his beige overcoat. Flipping open his notepad he tracked down the address she gave him, and ran the buzzer for her apartment.

 

[JellyFish]

The chestnut color door opened with a swift pull, a elderly but tall man standing. He wore a pure black suit, not a wrinkle in sight, the only color other than black were the crisp cleanness of his white cloves and collar. His cold eye glared up at the man before him, disapproving of the disturbance. He opened his mouth ready to send him off when a dainty hand was placed on his shoulder. "Mr. Smith, please don't scare him off. He's a expected guest." Mr. Smith huffed, opening the door wide and allowed the detective in. "My apologizes sir", he replied stiffly.

Catherine Peterson, clasped her hands together nervously after Smith had closed the door. Her home was finely decorated, painting of famous musicians and peaceful country sides stood bright against the cream colored wallpaper. The carpet underneath her feet, a darkened navy blue, was a beautiful contrast. Catherine smiled lightly, and waved for him to follow her into the living room. Her deep persimmon crepe dress fell to the floor with flat head stud centered heat-pressed floral designs. Entering the living room, she waved for him to sit in a chair and she took her place in a brown leather sofa.

"Mr. Marlow, I've called you here about a matter which has cost me many restless nights and perilous actions in which I can't even account for. I believe someone is trying to kill me." She bit her bottom lip, bring her hair to the front of her shoulder. She drew her fingers through it in her nervousness. "Can you actually help me?"