Call 1800-234-DEAD, Florence Hazel [books to read in your 20s .TXT] 📗

“Asher let me inside the house, you big ass!” I shouted at the door, kicking the wooden frame with my iron-toe boots. I always hated it when my brother thought it’d be a good idea to play hide the house key, especially on days when I was in a piss-poor mood, kind of like now.

I had just gotten fired from my job, not to mention having to sulk about it on the smelly city bus, and then I had to walk all the way from the stop in the pouring rain only to have my jerk store of a brother lock me out. The hallway boards creaked under my feet as I started down towards the main office to ask for my third key this year. I had lost many more and I’ve had to make trips down there so many times that I’m good acquaintances with the secretary, Mosey.

Mosey was your average guy, his dark skin stretched easily over his broad cheekbones, he had full lips that never failed to grin at you, and, my favorite trait about him, his jittery coffee-colored eyes. What I also adored about him was he never ceased in his giving, he was supposed to stop giving me replacement keys around six, but he still grinned and said ‘Ms. Moravia, lost yet another key, have we?’ and I’d grin and say, ‘Of course I have, Mr. Abraham, it is me we’re talking about,’. He also gave me coffee and we’d sit in the lobby and converse over random, trivial things that didn’t matter.

Hopping over to the front desk, I did our secret code, two taps of the silver bell that sat there. Soon enough, his head peeked around the corner to stare at me.

“Ah! Ms. Moravia!” he cried, rushing over to the counter.

“’Sup Mosey?” I asked, leaning on my elbows on the counter.

“Nothing too important,” he pursed his lips.

“You keeping secrets? Is it a girl? A pony? Oh please tell me you bought a pony! Or…you picked up a girl ON a pony, ‘cause that’d be so—“

“Ms. Moravia,” Mosey cut me off with a sigh, “I did no such thing, I wish I had done that much, but this is not some family-friendly secret I am allowed to share.”

“Fine,” I pouted, sticking my bottom lip out, “I just want a new key.”

“Again?” he arched a thick brow, “I thought you promised me last week that you were done getting new ones.”

“Well last week I didn’t know my brother would be a complete jerk and lock me out of the apartment again.”

“Hmm,” he nodded absentmindedly, “I’ll have to thank Asher for that one later, we need to talk, Ms. Moravia.”

“Don’t you ever want to call me by my name?” I teased, poking him in the chest, “You can call me Charm, Mosey.”

“I’m more of a formal person.” he clipped, walking over to the lobby furniture which consisted of two couches and two chairs. I sprawled out on the couch as he grabbed the coffee mug from the counter over by the window. The lobby was really not too shabby, with its floral print sofas, tall plaid chairs, and stained coffee table. I honest to Betsy thought everything was bought at a yard sale because the manager had very little left in his budget. The counter over by the window held the coffee-maker or God-Made-Machine-Sent-From-Heaven as I liked to call it, and there were a few trays of sweets like cookies and mints that lay next to the coffee-maker. Mosey brewed a fresh-pot every morning because we usually had our little chats when I lost my key, which was more than your usual six-month-dentist visit.

“So, what’s going on in the ‘hood? Any babes on standby?”

“Ms. Moravia!” Mosey exclaimed, looking horrified as he directed scolding tone in my direction.

“What? I was just asking. You need to get yourself some girls, you’re an attractive guy.” I said nonchalantly, picking at my nails as I propped my feet up on the coffee-table. The floral wallpaper that matched the ugly couches was peeling off and flaking on the ground just like my black nail polish at the moment.

“Why thank you,” he blushed slightly, “but what I need to know about is you. How has life been for the Moravias?”

“Same stuff, different day. It’s dead boring here,” I whined, crossing my arms over my chest as I continued, “I can’t wait to become a big time director and work in Hollywood. I can see it now, CHARM MORAVIA JUST PRODUCED THE NEWEST GODZILLA FILM! It’d be wonderful, and you could be a stowaway, I’d let you hide in my suitcase on the way there, it’d be awesome! I’d thank you when I won an award. Never my jerk store of a brother,” I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe things are better when you go unnoticed, I much rather prefer hiding in the shadows, believe me you, I don’t think it’s best to go around making people pay attention to me.”

“It’s not making if they want to.” I defended as he set down two cups of ambrosia, also known as coffee. I picked mine up and cuddled it to my chest as I took a small sip, sighing as the warm liquid took its course down my throat.

“Still,” he protested, looking up to the wall, “some people who get noticed get killed.” His normally light and airy voice turned dark and mysterious, like lightning and thunder on a stormy night. I shivered as I thought over his words, some people who get noticed, get killed. I wondered what he could’ve meant by that, Mosey was normally a light-hearted guy, but he had his moments, I remember at midnight on Halloween last year he scared the crap out of me when he used what I call his “Darth Vader” voice. 

I’m never going back on the thirteenth floor with a natural prankster, my brother, and Mosey again.

“You’re doing it again,” I inched away from him on the couch, he was perched on the edge of the other sofa, staring at me with his imperious dark eyes, creeping me out to some extent, “stop going all Darth Vader on me, you know it freaks me out.”

He coughed and straightened from his slouched position, “Sorry, something just came over me, that’s all.” Suddenly, the doors to the front lobby opened up and two very tall—very hot, may I add—men in suits came strolling through the doors. They dinged the bell at the front desk, expecting service, and Mosey was spacing out again like some moody teenager, so I guess I get to play bellhop, and that’s my idea of a fun time.

Getting up, I reluctantly put down my cup of barely-touched coffee and skipped over to the front desk.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” I drawled, hopping up so I was sitting on the desk. Both men turned their attention to me, and, let me say in an unbiased opinion, the one on the left was amazingly hot. Like I-Just-Broke-The-One-Through-Ten-Scale hot, and let me tell you, once you cross that line, you’re not hot anymore, you’re freaking sexy, or on fire, either one works. Although if it’s the latter, a fire truck might be needed.

I think I’ll give the men names. The one on the left—the sexy one—his name is gonna be Fire Boy, and the cuter one on the right—the one that reminds me of a puppy dog—his name is gonna be Dave, just because I like the name Dave.

“Ma’am,” Dave coughed, “we’re private investigators and we’re here to see a…” he looked at a clipboard that he was holding, “Ms. Charm Moravia.” This spiked my interest, why would I need to be seen by two completely hot PIs?

“That’s me!” I smiled slightly, “What can I do for ya?”

“Well,” Fire Boy started in a gruff voice, “it’d be best to do this in private.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. Dave and Fire Boy just stared at me like I had grown two heads.

“Ma’am,” Dave started again, “private means—“

“I know what private means, weirdo,” I grinned, “you said it’d be best to be in private, not that I had to be in private. You know you really shouldn’t say something like that, I’m an expert at finding loopholes,” I smirked smugly.

“Can you just cooperate?” Fire Boy hissed, running his fingers through his dark brown locks, which looked oh-so-perfect.

“By standards of investigation, I am. I’m letting you talk to me, you should be honored.” I put my hands out in an innocent, I-Did-Nothing gesture, which made Fire Boy angry and Dave chuckle.

Puppy Boy Dave stepped forward and smiled slightly, “I think I’m going to like having you around for a bit, Ms. Moravia.”

“Please,” I shrugged, “I get that too much.”

“Really?” FB asked, “Because it seems like you’re an annoying female dog.” After doing the mature thing and flipping him the special finger I reserved for annoying people I made a common decision that supported my mental health.

With biased opinion, I decided that Puppy Boy Dave was definitely my new favorite.

After minutes of pleading and begging, I finally agreed to come back with them to the station. I also may have annoyed FB to the max. I mean, if he was a cartoon character, the steam would be rising out of his ears and hitting the roof of the uber-cool SUV that I was sitting in.

It was an unmarked police car, I think my mom told me to stay away from those when I was like seven, but if there’s any time in life for rebellion, it’s now.

“So, what are your guys’ names?” I asked curiously as I played with the radio, changing the stations back and forth, I think I know why PDD let me sit in the front, and it was obvious that FB knew why as well. It was so I could annoy FB, because his friend in the back got a kick out of it.

“I’m Joshua Lexington,” PDD said, letting me know that his name was sadly not Puppy Dog Dave. Damn, that’d be a sick name, I’d love to go around greeting people with that name that clearly said I’m a bad-ass. Joshua had blonde hair that was spiked up into a Mohawk, his blue eyes were very animated, and his thin lips were curved into a smile. He looked like sunshine and happiness, if I was to give three words to describe him.

“And I’m Beau Heathcliff,” FB said darkly, making me shiver with less-than welcome thoughts about my new enemy, whom I most certainly could not be attracted to, because it’d go against everything I was taught when I made my first enemy. His brown hair was tousled in a amazingly sexy disarray, his green eyes were aimed at the road, and his full lips were pursed in a thin line, assuming the expression of waning patience. He looked like a unhappy guy, I should know, I’ve seen more than a few.

“Heathcliff?” I asked dubiously, “What are you, a character from