“You said you wanted the truth, Mr. Woodard,” a low, feminine tone sounded through a cloud of smoke. “And I delivered.”

The man, dressed in a navy blue, well tailored suit slouched in his chair and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.” His eyes finally peered up at her for the first time since she played the DVD she burned. “Well, what do I do now?”

Penny scoffed and took another drag of her cigarette. “Therapy will cost you more.” The cigarette now rested on the lip of the ashtray, and she straightened her posture to look directly at the man. “Look, I did my job. I don’t care if you like what I find or how I found it,  but the point is that it’s done. She has no idea I trailed her. No one does.” She stretched her arms out and groaned as a few bones cracked; she had been sitting in that chair for what felt like hours.

A fellow American, James Woodard. A wealthy, attractive businessman in his late thirties who, assumingly, would have any woman clawing at their chance to be his wife, but it seemed as though no matter what someone’s status would, they weren’t immune to the misfortune of being fucked over. Mr. Woodard began to question Hilda’s actions. She was staying out later and later with friends, started to seem uninterested in conversing with him, and of course, she stopped putting out. 

Now, Penny had stopped taking low-profile cases like this long ago. She wanted to be taken seriously, to seem like a powerful threat that lurked in the shadows of the city, and she found that cases like this didn’t push her career along, but instead made her look like she was on an episode of “Cheaters.” But her and James had been introduced by mutual friends at a party a couple months ago, and when he approached her, she couldn’t decline. Penny could feel that his heart was pure and she pitied him for being in his position. That, and he paid well.

A week of trailing Mrs. Woodard and many nights sitting in the car with binoculars finally paid off.

His wife had told him she didn’t feel well enough to attend one of his work events, but in reality, she left the house ten minutes after James headed out for the night. With a shaky hand, Penny filmed an entire night between the woman and her lover, easily visible from his sliding glass door four floors above the street, and she couldn't help but shake her head in their stupidity. "Too easy."

“And you’re sure that everything you said [i]actually[/i] happened? I mean - “

“Do you want me to play the footage again, Mr. Woodard?” she interrupted, leaning towards him from across her desk.

“God, no” he sighed, throwing his hands up. “I can’t watch that again.”

“Very well,” Penny smirked. “You’ve already provided half of my payment. I need the other half.”

James reached into his coat pocket to pull out a small black booklet. “You take check?”

“As long as it doesn’t bounce,” she smiled while taking a sip from the wine glass sitting next to her. “Then I suppose it’s fine.”

[center]*****[/center]

Hours later, she was home: a dimly lit studio apartment that seemed to get smaller and smaller as the months past. Pieces of art and other memorabilia stretched across the brick walls, and a white lumpy couch sat dead in the center in front of a small TV, and her queen sized bed was tucked away in a corner on the ground. It was nothing special, but it became a haven for Penny that kept her shielding from the world around her, once she still couldn't quite understand.

This wasn't where she saw herself at 28 years old. If you had asked her as a girl where she would be by now, Penny would have sworn she'd be married with a large house and a nice car, working for a firm that took her investigative skills seriously. Instead, she sat stranded in a foreign country, working for people who could order her dead in a moment. The thrill was the only thing that kept her going at times.

“I told you, I’m working,” she spoke into her phone speaker.

“You sound drunk,” came from the other end. “And I hear your Pink Floyd record playing in the background.”

Penny couldn’t help but smile. “I’m researching. And I have 15 unread emails from potential clients.” She had been hunched over on her laptop for an hour by now.

“I could help you,” Connor responded, his tone changing from suspicious to concerned. “I….I miss you.”

“You know I can’t let you see this shit. It’s private. Plus it’s not as exciting as you’d think.”

“Whatever,” he sighed. “Have you thought any more about coming home?”

Penny scratched at her head as she hesitated. “Based on what I’ve heard, the heat hasn’t died down quite yet. Richards will give me the green light as soon as I can come back.”

“Well, I hope it’s soon. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t,” she sighed. “Good night, Connor.”

Penny tossed her phone to the other side of the couch and rubbed her face forcefully. The past eight months in China had been quite lonely, but her career had blossomed, so much so that it was difficult to imagine moving back to the States. It wasn’t as though it had been her choice, but now that she was here, it would be a waste not to take advantage of the recognition she was getting. Why move back and throw it all away?

[center]*****[/center]

“The fuck?” Penny startled, nearly falling off the couch to the sound of her phone ringing. What time was it? When did she fall asleep?

“H-Hello?”

“Ah, Penny,” a thick accent greeted her. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I have an acquaintance who needs your services. The more quickly, the better.”

“It’s fine, Liko,” she yawned and removed herself from the couch and relocating to the window that looked at the busy streets below. “What’s the situation?”

“A murder of a young woman. Her brother is the one who would like to hire you.” He paused for a few moments. “I don’t know much more than that, but there will be news coverage certainly.”
“Great,” she scoffed. “Text me where to meet him, I’ll be there.”

[center]*****[/center]

The following day, Penny arrived by cab at the Cotton Club, a spot notorious for business men and criminals alike to do business while enjoying overpriced drinks and attractive waitresses prancing about. A bit corny if you asked her, but she would usually go out of her way to make her clients feel comfortable, and that usually included them picking where to meet. She found it made people more open to be in their own habitat, more willing to share more information that would help her.

Upon entering the club, Penny removed her large, round sunglasses, allowing her blue eyes to scan the restaurant for her potential client. Her dyed black hair sat tucked behind her ears and trailed down her back, still damp from her shower. The man seemed to have spotted her rather quickly, so she assumed Liko explained she was American. Most clients didn’t seem to mind, but there were instances in the past where they were caught off guard or decided not to hire her due to the fact that she would draw more attention to herself.

She always attempted to look professional for her first meeting, depending on social status of the client and the location she was told to go, but sometimes it was not so easy. She was used to being in the background, not center stage, so when it came time to put her best foot forward in regards to appearance, Penny struggled.

She wore a pair of high-waisted, fitted black pants with a black shirt tucked in that reached up to the collarbone, both articles of clothing hiding her tattoos; she had learned her lesson with more traditional clients looking down on her for them. A tan, trench coach hung to her sides which shielded her from the rain on her way in, and a pair of black, four-inch heels carried her to the bar where her client sat alone, obviously distressed.

She shook his hand firmly in return. “Of course. Penelope Goodman.” Observing the man in front of her, it was hard to sniff out exactly what he was. His clothes were expensive and his mannerisms seemed of someone old and wise, but, by her guess, he was younger than she was, and she couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that popped out of his shirt sleeve. It took her a moment, but her eyes widened slightly when she she noticed their familiarity, and it became quite clear why Jiao had chosen to go to her than to trust the police.

Rather than leading in with any sort of cliche introduction, Penny listened to him speak. He explained how he had found his sister and what she said before passing, causing her to cock her head to the side in curiosity. 

Then, abruptly, he made it sound like things were coming to a close as he passed her his information on a piece of paper. “Wait,” she said lowly and turned her full body on the stool to him. “There are a few things we need to go over.”

The drink she ordered finally arrived, and she took a large sip then cleared her throat before continuing. Her voice remained low and unwavering. “This is just a formality, but I must explain this all to you, although something tells me this isn’t your first rodeo.” She smirked briefly, resuming her serious manner. “ 1. I need your trust. You may not like what I find or how I find it, but I do my job and never have issues delivering. I expect that I will have your full support.”

Another sip of her drink. “2. If you use any of the information I give to you seek revenge, you must not name me. Whether to police, to colleagues, whatever. I had no involvement as far as anyone is concerned. We do not know each other.”

“3 -” she mumbled through the cigarette she was lighting. “I expect you not to hide information from me. I understand some things may be uncomfortable to speak of, especially of your sister, but if you want me to do my work to the best of my ability, I need information. [i]Good[/i] information. Some cases don’t require much contact between me and my clients, but due to the nature of the incident, I think it’d be best if we kept in touch.” 

She took another drag of her cigarette and rested it on the lip of the ashtray they shared. “I have an office a few streets down from here.” Her hands dug through a small black purse until a business card was found and handed to Jiao. “Meet me tomorrow. 3 PM. Bring any information you can that will help me discover what happened to your sister.” Her eyes glanced down to the location where she had seen the tattoos a few moments prior. “It’s probably best to discuss details in a more private setting.”

Penny finished the contents of her drink and stood up, offering her hand to the man once again. “It was a pleasure, Jiao. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked through the club, exiting out onto the street and hailing a taxi. 

Once in the back of a cab, she mulled over what Jiao had explained to her. “Murdered by the devil,” she whispered to herself, and the corners of her lips couldn’t help but turn upward slightly. “This should be fun.”