Prompt courtesy of Velvet Verbosity‘s 100 word challenge.
The line disconnected. Dzinski stood there, the receiver pressed against his ear. Going over what was said.
“Two grand. An hour’s work. Stone Shores Hotel.”
He thought about the voice. A nasal, high-pitched, irritating thing. He imagined the prim, proper, petulant woman it likely belonged to. But the image clashed with the call itself. That kind of woman wouldn’t say those kinds of things, unless there was more to this story.
Interest itched at the nape of his neck.
He hung up the phone. Pulled his .38 from the middle drawer, closed the office and walked down to his car.