ch1 pg 2-4

"HOW can I help you, Ms. Kim-"
A dark haired woman I did not recognize rushed past me and let the door close behind her. I wondered what her hurry was.
"Your shoes." Shoes and sandals here were left at the door. She walked into my living room and took a seat on my couch. I usually met my guests in the connecting room next door, but it was too early in the morning for me to care.
Samantha Kim looked at me curiously, as if she had made some sort of mistake. Then her expression changed; she looked like she needed help.
"Mr. Darling, I need your help."
I looked her over and decided that she was the kind of woman who could use my boxer shorts to cross the street just so she wouldn't have to step in a puddle.
"My father said that if I ever needed help, you would be the one to see."
She noticed that I was staring down at her shoes. They were nice shoes. Taking her pumps off one at a time, she got up and set them by the door. She wasn't wearing stockings.
I took the opportunity to get a good look at her. Close inspection revealed that Samantha Kim was in her mid to late twenties, though the way she wore her black hair short created the illusion of nineteen. Here eyes were oriental but her face was slender, with high cheek bones. The point on the end of her nose was unusual for someone with last name like Kim, but overall her Asian background showed. She wore a light cotton sun dress printed with a subdued floral pattern. The spaghetti straps that held it up only made it seem like her well proportioned body was ready to burst from its enclosure. Her skin was silky smooth and nicely tanned like most of the local women. In my book, Samantha Kim was a looker.
She sat back down on the couch with her knees together and her ankles off to one side. I took a seat across from her and decided that having to wake up to her wasn't such a bad thing after all. With her allure, I had a hard time remembering why she was here.
"So Samantha, why are you here?" I couldn't remember any friends named Kim though I sometimes ate a restaurant of the same name.
"Royce is my maiden name," she said, looking out over my lanai. "Charlie Royce was my father."
I followed her gaze outside to see that the deluge that had awoken me had started up again. It was coming down in sheets so thick it drowned out all the colors of the city and turned the horizon a dark grey. The usual postcard view from my window now looked like a black and white photo that had been over exposed. Black and whites made me moody.
Charlie Royce had been a part of another life. He had been a detective in the department while I was just starting out with the government. Our paths had crossed more than once and he had taken the time to show a new guy the ropes. I remember Charlie saying that he had a daughter. But it had just been in passing; our personal lives had never mixed. It had been many years since I had seen or heard from Charlie Royce and I had never met his girl.
"I remember your father, we used to work together sometimes."
"Daddy hardly talked about work." She grabbed her purse and held it tightly against her side. "When he did mention names, he spoke of you very highly. I think you were the straightest person he knew."
"Well Mrs. Kim, I'm not a mind reader, what exactly-"
"Nobody said you were. Look, you got anything to drink around here?"
"I could make you a cup of coffee. Or I could-"
"You got any scotch around? Dewers, if you got it."
For someone that wanted my help she had an unusual way of asking. I walked over to the bar and poured her a drink. She was after all, a guest in my home. Maybe she wasn't a morning person either.
The glass quivered a little when she took it out of my hands and brought it to her lips. Samantha looked as if she had a thin wire strung inside of her being wound tighter and tighter. I hoped it wouldn't break.
She drained her glass in one gulp. Well, it was night time somewhere.
"Daddy said i could always count on Darling. Sorry, I mean Mister Darling." She put her empty glass down and stared at me.
I stared back. Her makeup couldn't quite hide the darkness under her bloodshot eyes. She looked like she had been up all night and despite her drop dead looks, I was still suspicious. Beautiful women didn't walk into my living room every morning. I could only wish.
"I've got two hundred fifty thousand of the Syndicate's money. At least I think it's their money."
My face remained blank though inside my head warning bells were ringing. Then it occurred to me that this might be some elaborate trick someone was playing on me.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
I sat back in my chair and asked: "What do you want-"
"I want to give it back, but I don't know how."