Intro written by @tristancarax:

I watched Belinda getting onto the cable car that was headed up the hill. Quickly, I ran and jumped onto the back as the cable car began to pull away.

I would have had trouble with the ticket agent if it wasn’t for the gun in my hand and the badge on my belt. He backed off with a quiet stare. Following my gaze, he was bewitched by Belinda’s beauty. He darted after me. She had this effect on men of weak mind. I would have fallen off if it wasn’t for the bar slamming up against my back. Tossing the man off the trolley, his body cracked and thudded as he rolled down the hill. A blood-soaked street . . .

I turned my attention back to Belinda. Fuck! She’d vanished. That fucking prick! I’d been hunting down this woman for weeks with no luck. I’d have no clue as to where to scour next if it wasn’t for the letter I found at my feet addressed to me.

333

It was 3 a.m. when I arrived back to my flea-infested motel. A new record for me as the days without sleep turned into weeks of nightmares. Insomnia is a bitch.

The Captain at the precinct had kept me longer than expected. He was viscerally upset when my employer had spoken to him over the phone. ”What do you mean ‘set him free?’” the captain protested. ”This man of yours just killed a man, for no apparent reason, with a slew of witnesses around,” his voice rose a little louder, becoming squeaker, ”and I’m to let him go?” His eyes darted in my direction. I saw him about to crack. ”What am I supposed to tell the press?” My employer ensured him that he’d take care of the press if the precinct did its job and labelled the body bag with the tag "DNI" (Do not investigate).

Reluctantly, the Captain released me. My employer had ties to power most would never dare touch. Those who dared to challenge him were usually found with a couple missing body parts in the middle of town or possibly at the bottom of a flight of stairs. ”Unsolved” murder/suicides were abound. This place was beyond crooked.

I sat down on the bed. I finally had time to get to the letter I’d hidden in my trench coat pocket that was hidden beneath a pocket. This pocket had saved a few useful items in the past when I’d gotten into trouble for the blatant disregard for life.

Other than the obvious clue ”Addressed to you, Detective,” she had left a kiss mark, formed from the blue lipstick she wore.

I slapped my neck. ”Fucking fleas!”

Opening the letter, I read:

Dear Detective,

I know why you don't sleep at night. I've watched you in your half-hazy sleep toss and turn. Yes, I've done my research. You thought I didn't know about you? No matter.

Pay attention.

Your awakening is coming. You first have to chase this mouse a few more times around the block before your mind will be free enough to see that the shadow and the light cannot be without the other.

You have been to the Garden. Follow the smell. Seek the maid who is more precious than a green stone.

Your employer is banking on the life you've lead up until this very moment.

A sweet kiss, Detective.

There was a knock at my door.

My Entry:

Opening the door, the detective found a well dressed special courier who asked, “Detective?”

“Yes, although it seems a little late for the mail. Mind telling me who it’s from?”

“It’s from Mr. You-Know-Who.” Then the courier handed the Detective a modest sized silver box wrapped in a silver bow. After making the delivery he darted away.

The Detective held the box in both hands with the motel door open. He turned it a few times in stunned silence. Reality and the dream world mixed together before he again felt the flea at his neck that he slapped away.

He opened the box in the doorway throwing the lid into the parking lot. Inside sat a little green pill with a hand written note: EAT ME

The Detective swallowed the green pill without hesitation. He instantly felt the beat of a drum in his neck where the flea had bitten him. Then the lovely sound of a woman singing over and over again, “I will make sweet love to you . . . all summer.”

The strong sent of roses hit his nostrils and the aroma led him away. He walked around the block a couple of times, each time passing his motel room with the door wide open, and the song playing again and again over his thoughts, “I will make sweet love to you . . . all summer.”

He lost count of walking down hill, and up hill, around the empty street of the motel block fresh from a rain earlier in the evening making the street lights sparkle in the puddles.

The music began to fade in his mind as he made the turn again into the motel parking lot with his room door wide open. Only this time there stood a French maid.

As he walked closer he recognized Belinda, she leaned against the doorframe seductively, then teased him with a kiss to the night air.

The Detective drew his revolver, the bullets darting into the attractive woman that had come to visit him. And then the Detective darted toward her to make sure she had not vanished again in front of his eyes.

Only when he got to his room he found the Captain dead, holding a plane ticket. The Detective examined the ticket, it had his name on it, a one way trip back home away from this strange place.

“Looks like I’m a Loner again.” The Detective said to himself, and then the flea bit his neck again only it felt like a kiss. Somewhere out there Belinda still roamed and he still sought her.

And his employer, The Yellow King, supervised this game of cat and mouse.

Thank you,
Cyrus Emerson

Also, available from the Author:

Fear and Loathing in the State of Jefferson - ebook
https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B079R5KLPN&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_GsURAbAVDYNEM

Lost Angel – Introduction with Ray Manzarek of The Doors
https://www.downpour.com/lost-angel?sp=249812

Red Roses - audiobook
https://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Red-Roses-Audiobook/B07F2LWHPN