Playing around with a different voice.
When the poodle walked in I was practicing picking my teeth with a Bowie knife. She stopped in the doorway and actually took a step back, knocking the blind that hangs on the back of the door so that it clattered against the wood.
Now don't get me wrong, she wasn't an actual poodle. More a woman trying to achieve a look best described as Canis Parisiennes. I have a good eye for detail—especially expensive details—and even more so when they can be found on the person of a prospective client, but this woman was something else again. The fur was mink. Her necklace vintage Tiffany. The dress, well I don't do dresses, but it looked expensive. You get the picture.
She looked at me, then at my assistant Juanita and back again. “I'm looking for a detective, ” she said. I should have rejected her then and there on the basis of her voice alone. It was shrill, reedy. A horrible warbling combination that set my teeth on edge. I'm shuddering now just recalling it.
“Who’s asking?” I picked my teeth a little more for effect. It's definitely intimidating, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Well damn Juanita if she didn't jump in and start reassuring the poodle that she was in the right place. She set about getting her a chair and a cup of tea as well. I suppose the desire to be paid can be a powerful thing.
All of this would be relatively normal as occurrences go in my neck of the woods, except that as soon as the poodle set foot in my office proper my guts turned to water and I had to fight the growing desire to crap my pants. That right there only happens very rarely and usually only when something very bad has just landed on my doorstep.
Let me know if you would read on. Is this character/situation interesting to you?