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Rigged, a short story by Dusty Bones. Date added: 2011-11-19. Times viewed: 587.

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Smithson ran a hand through his receding blond hair. Small movements passed across his moist lips. His pale blue eyes focused wearily on the large manilla envelope I slipped across the greasy spoon’s Formica tabletop.
"That about covers everything," I said, sipping black coffee from a chipped mug and reaching for my cigarettes.
"It’s exactly what you asked for."
I relaxed in the chair, blowing rings of blue-grey smoke into the already-hazy atmosphere. Somewhere behind me, Ethel Green argued with a customer over the state of her sausages. I should have stepped in and stopped the poor old gal getting a mouthful from whichever brick or traffic-warden she’d poisoned this time. I should have, but the look on Smithson’s face was far too precious to miss.
"But..." He swallowed hard, probably from the ethereal scents of sex, sweat and lust that clung to every one of the printed stills.
Smithson shuffled his way through the pile of high-quality prints one last time before sliding them back into the envelope. Thick red lines traced the whites of both eyes. Furrows that would make a ploughman proud creased his brow. His hand trembled as he reached for my cigarettes.
"But you’re in these photos."
I blew a smoke-ring, sipped a little more coffee and watched the colour drain from his cheeks like blood from hung game.
"Mr. Smithson, those pictures are exactly what you asked for."
"What the hell are you talking about, Sloane?"
"You told me to find conclusive proof that Mrs. Smithson engaged in extra-marital sexual encounters."
"Did I tell you screw her, Bradshaw?"
"You told me to do whatever it takes."
Finishing my coffee with a long swallow, I scooped my cigarettes from the table and slipped them into a pocket.
"Don’t worry about any outstanding fees," I said, slipping on my overcoat and wondering if the rain outside would die off before I made it back to the office.
"Jenny’s settling up tonight."

END

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