He locked the door, walked back and sat behind his cluttered desk.

"And how may I be of service, madam?" Jack Baker asked through his teeth, biting a cigarette while looking for a matchbox lost in his pockets.

She was a tall woman, hair as red as the sunset, with a quiet desperation in her face, and a body that was considered a bad omen in most religions.

"Well, mister Baker... My name is Veronica... and I need you to kill me tonight."

Jack arched an eyebrow as he fished the matchbox from his pocket, and finding it empty, hurled it into the wastebasket. "Got a light?"
All dames in need wear skirts that reveal too much. Veronica wasn't the exception.
Jack eyeballed her assets as she withdrew a stainless steel lighter from her purse and bent over the desk to touch the flame to his cigarette.
"Like what you see?" she asked. "You can have it... only if you promise to kill me."

Jack smoked in silence for a moment.

"I'm sitting here wondering what would a rich single society madam like you want to die so bad."

Veronica smirked dryly at his observation.

"Since you are so smart, Sherlock, why don't you figure it out yourself?"

"You take me for a smart alec, but that's not how detectives work. Our job is much more subtle. Psychological."

Veronica lit a Chesterfield for herself.

"So, what, you want me talk about my mother?"

"I am a ladies man, I admit. Still, I might not be as interested in your mother, as I am in the reason behind your request."
Jack's feet almost went up to land on his desk, but he realized that it was a bit too full of old newspapers, unpaid bills and envelopes he was too afraid to open. He hoped that his off-hand attempt at humour would make Veronica drop some subtle hints for him to hook on.

Suddenly, Veronica looked down, with a shadow of sadness covering her face.

"Maybe you are right. This was a Freudian slip. I really came here because of my mother.

Jack was satisfied to be right, but looked mostly concerned. He jumped off of the chair, grabbed his hat and coat, and dragged Veronica across the office.

"Let's get the hell out of here. We have a murder to set up."

"Do you have a car?" Jack asked, pressing his fists deep in his coat as he set across the street, stiff-backed against the driving rain. He turned and watched Veronica cross under a luxuriously large umbrella with a gait that would make a priest give up his vows.

When she caught up to him, she said, "No," sending a smoke ring into his face as she passed. "I got a ride from my mother."

"Oh." Nonplussed. He wrapped his fist with his coat. Punched.
"What sort of detective are you, Mr. Boner?"
"Baker. It's Jack Baker." He grunted. "The kind needs to pay the bills. Besides, Grand Theft Auto ranks pretty low compared to murder."

The car started.

Veronica drove through the afternoon traffic, and drove uphill, leaving the dirty urban sprawl behind and entering the woodlands where the rich used to hide in their lavish mansions.

"Let me guess, you live in one of those fancy manors with dobermans and butlers and bushes cut in funny animal shapes. I've been here before."

"Your detective skills are truly fascinating" said Veronica, obviously joking "Now tell me, mister smart detective, since you know so much about everything... You still haven't figured out why I hired you."

Jack paused while he lit up another Lucky.

"You mean why the brotherhood hired me."

The car screeched to a halt.

Veronica sat stock still. Jack studied her. Her profile was illuminated by a passing car, the droplets behind a glissando of contrasts while her face darkened.

After a moment, she turned to him. "What do you know, Jack Baker?"

Jack felt the moment quickening. Whatever he said, he would need to be careful if he wanted to remain breathing; the glinting barrel of a blunt nose peered from her sleeve.

He was all nonchalance. "Give me a break, darlin'. If I learned anything from those tired ass movies, the dame's always bad news."

He inhaled. "You's probably got a twin sister you want dead." He raised an eyebrow. Her expression said it all.

"I don't even know anymore" she sighed "Maybe it's me who should die after all."

Jack watched the smoke coming out of his cigarette and counted the seconds in silence. Three seconds later, Veronica broke down and started to cry. He passed his arm around her shoulder and tried to calm her down.

"It's... mother... she keeps... playing these... mind games... and the brotherhood..."

"Don't worry, baby. We'll get to them. I've been after them for a while now."

The rain caressed the car like Jack caressed Veronica's shoulder. The radio was playing some smooth jazz, when the song was suddenly cut and a strange voice came out of the speakers:

"Veronica, this is your mother. Where have you gone off to this time?" The screeching voice sent shivers down Jack's spine.

"So, that's momma," he said coolly.

"Yes," said Veronica, keeping her eyes glued to the front door of mansion 30303, on Oak Drive.

Jack looked around, checking for movement. Seeing nothing he took hold of Veronica's arm.
"Let's go," he said. Opening the door Jack slipped out and grabbed Veronica by her arm.

"Where are we going Jack?" Veronica whispered.

"Oh, I think you already know that answer, don't you dear brother."

"Vernon." Jack pointed his pistol at Veronica. "Christ, man, you let the Brotherhood do this to you?"

"You could never accept me for me, Jack. They did. Now I'm pretty."

The rain pelted them both, smoothing their clothes against their skin. Veronica's exposed skin gleamed.

"When they took you I swore to avenge you, b-but they made you into an abomination to turn against me!" Jack desperately wanted a cigarette.

"How did you know... I wasn't who I said I was?" asked Vernon.
.
"The scar on your shoulder. You should've gotten rid of it."

"Never. It reminds me of a time we were truly brothers."

Jack spat. "You're dead to me, traitor."

"Jack, please," Veronica pleaded, "don't do this. We're almost home and Momma is waiting."

"How dare you! You, you mother--, you set me up." Jack clenched his teeth as he spoke then spat at Veronica. He had left the family because of the brotherhood and he would not relent now.

"Jack, you are way to stubborn for your own good. Always have been." Veronica held out her hand and smiled.

"Go to hell," spat Jack. "They killed Alicia, remember? My sweet Alicia." A tear threatened to drip from Jack's right eye, but the world was getting way too wet to notice. "And I thought you were dead." Jack stepped off the curb.

"Jack, please, don't leave. Jack. Jack!"

He didn't pay too much attention to Veronica's (Vernon's?) words muffled by the rain coming down in streams. Despite the shock, he knew what had to be done. Approaching the building, he pulled out the only thing he had any trust left in.

His .45.

Veronica was paralyzed, the rain framing her hair against her face. Jack was a distorted smudge of light in the headlights, then he was gone, slipping into the house.

They had told her that he was delusional, but not of the extent.

She clapped her hands to her soaking breast. My God, these tits are real! She began to feel angry.

Elegant, sultry, vulpine.

These were words that described herself. How dare he confuse her for his brother! A man!

She took a deep breath, and a flash of lightning made her eyes fluoresce malevolently.

A woman spurned is not to be taken lightly. Forgetting her mission, she took up determined strides toward the house, to set Jack straight.

Thunder lashed the earth, one, two, three...

'Hell hath no fury' her footsteps pounded.
Sickened by the illiterates all around her,
she strode on.
Finally, she contacted him. "Hi, Jack."
She chuckled at the double entendre.

"Hi"