My funny valentine, the phonograph scratched from the old vinyl record playing at one side of his office. Sweet comic valentine.
The dead detective barely heard the song as his unseeing eyes stared at the necklace wrapped around his hand. A shot glass and a half-empty bottle of whiskey were on his desk.
You make me smile with my heart.
There was a slight knock at the door and the detective roused himself to say, “C’mon in. And that better not be you, Simon.”
The door swung open and a tall, curvaceous woman in a tight black dress walked in. A small black hat and a black silk veil covered her head and features, but the dead detective felt the woman’s gaze like a punch to the gut.
“I’m not Simon,” said the woman in a soft steel-limned voice. “I trust I’m not disturbing you?”
Your lips are laughable, unphotographable…
The dead detective shook his head. “What brings the Mayor of Limbo City to the offices of Carlos and Simon, private investigators?” he said scornfully.
The woman looked around and said, “Why don’t you offer me a chair, Carlos? Didn’t your mother bring you up to be a gentleman?”
Carlos clutched the pendant in his fist and shook it in front of her. “Sorry. I think I lost all my gentlemanly virtues when I died.”
Yet you’re my favorite work of art.
The woman shrugged - an elegant move of her shoulders that drew the gaze - and seated herself in the only chair left in the office.
“You should really get out more, Carlos,” she said as she took out a long cigarette holder from her tiny purse. “Or haven’t you noticed that it’s fair time outside? El Dia de los Muertos. It’s our time.”
Carlos watched as she attached a cigarette to the holder and then put it to her lips. “You know,” he muttered, “Those things are going to end up killing you.”
“Those jokes are old, Carlos,” she said, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air. “Like the last hundred centuries or so.”
He rubbed his stubbled face and said, “Well, I’ve only been dead for twenty years so it’s all new to me.”
Is your figure less than greek?
She sighed and said, “I’ve been lenient with you, Carlos. Heaven knows there’s not much for you to do here. But you didn’t have to keep your old detective job, you know. Once you’re dead, you can be anything you wish.”
“I was a private investigator before I died. I guess I’m still a private investigator even when I’m dead,” he retorted. “It’s not my fault nothing much happens in your city.”
“I keep a well-run city,” she snapped back. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Meaning it’s like real life, except nobody ever dies.”
She shrugged again. “Nothing I can do about that. I only collect the dead. What happens next is up to upper management.”
Is your mouth a little weak...
Carlos leaned back on his chair and said, “So what can I do you for?”
She looked at the old phonograph across the room and a tinge of irritation crept into her tone. “Do we have listen to that?”
It was his turn to shrug. “There’s nothing much to listen to around here.”
With a gesture, she turned off the phonograph from afar. The record slowly tak-tak-takked to a halt under the needle. “There, that’s better. No wonder you’re so moody. You keep listening to those old songs.”
“Now that’s funny. You’re actually avoiding my question.”
Her head snapped back and the dead detective felt a jolt through his bones. The shadows lengthened behind her back and covered half the room.
“Watch your tone, Carlos.”
“Yeah, well,” he said grudgingly. “Good thing you decided to forgo the old black cowl and scythe shtick. Heaven knows that went out of style during the medieval ages.”
Suddenly, she uttered a small laugh. “I’m still blonde and blue-eyed underneath this, Carlos. Do you want to see my curls?”
“God forbid.”
She shrugged again. “I’ll be frank, Carlos. I have… a problem.”
Carlos remained silently watchful and she continued. “Normally, the Day of the Dead is the one time the people of this city can celebrate… what they are.”
“Dead, you mean. Just say it.”
“It’s a state of being, Carlos. You should keep that in mind,” she replied. “My point is, people need to… forget their situation for a while.”
Carlos took out an extra glass from his drawer and poured a finger of whiskey into it.
“Hospitality for once? Should I be scared?”
“Oh, get on with it,” he snarled.
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