Story from i, crime writer

… one of 18 ebooks in The ‘I’ Series – flash fiction (horror, sci fi, crime, romance & twist in the tale), poetry and short essays from politics to the paranormal.

I met her when I was clubbing one night. Yes, I know, I’m in my 30s now – I’m a detective inspector – and I should be over these things. But clubbing is still fun, and it’s good to know I can still pull.

She was gorgeous. Blonde with a body that could gyrate as well as it looked. My usual style worked and in minutes we were dancing. Within the hour, first kiss, and by midnight she proved herself no Cinderella.
We never bothered with names – no point; it was just a one night stand; we both knew that – but I was to call her my Guarded Angel.
My mother had warned me about the type, and psychologists later confirmed it. What had gone wrong in her childhood, I had no idea, but women who could use their body like that, flash that perfect look and totally enchant you had no respect for themselves. Deep down, they had feelings of inferiority, and as a defence they used their sex as a weapon. Dickens understood this. In Great Expectations Estella is bred purposely to take Miss Havisham’s revenge on men. They were good time girls, but you never got into their heads. This was closed to normal interaction, a psychological guard outside.

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So I used her as she used me. There was nothing romantic. It was the satisfaction of desire. But when I saw her a couple of nights later, it was obvious that the enchantment was beginning to work on me.
I was in a bar and in she came, on the arm of Ben Stiles. She’d obviously used the enchantment well, as she’d hooked one of the biggest gangsters in town. Yet those eyes kept flashing towards me, and there seemed such vulnerability in them. Indeed, next to Stiles she seemed like a vulnerable child.
At one point she moved away from Stiles and his henchmen. I approached her. Asked what the hell she was doing with them. Warned her to get away from them. They were dangerous.
The next day I received a message from Stiles – a beaten up low life with a cryptic message in his pocket to stay away from his property.
Was that when chivalry entered my head? I don’t know, but I decided to get Stiles; take him out – and throughout it all it seemed as if I was doing it for my Guarded Angel.
My investigations soon showed me the way. An informer had let me know that Stiles was taking a drugs delivery soon. I worked out where, and when, and I was there at the bust. But somehow Stiles got away.
That night, I found him – or should I say, he found me. He was alone and angry, and as he stood there in the road, silhouetted by a nearby streetlamp, I saw the glint of the blade.
I prepared to defend myself, but as he came forward, two shots crackled through the night.
Stiles’ eyes went dead, and his body soon followed, and as he fell, there was my Guarded Angel behind him, gun in hand.
I acted quickly – checked no one had seen anything; grabbed her by the hand and took her away; disposed of the gun – it would be just one more unsolved gangland killing. And it seemed I’d saved her from quite a life of abuse, for Stiles knew the type, too, and used it.
My Guarded Angel didn’t stay with me long. I’d been so enchanted I actually thought we could have had a relationship, but it was only on the surface. I never got inside. And as I said to her as she left me – went off to find another battle to fight: ‘You may think that guard protects you, but believe me, it’s your jailer.’

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