Hardboiled Writing Exercise

     It was a dark night. The rain was coming down like all the angels in heaven decided to take a piss at the same time. I sat in my office, cigarette in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. There was a knock on the door.
     "It's open!" I call. The door swung open. There she was. She had gams that any dame would kill for. Her lips were red like blood. Her clothes where modest, with a hit of sin. the top few buttons of her blouse were undone, but not enough to see anything. She looked like a working class gal. Someone who had grown up on the streets.  She walked in, her hips swaying like pendulum.
     "Are you Dexter Mutt, the detective?" she asks. Her voice was silk. It takes me a minute to respond; I was imagining what she looked like underneath her clothes.
     "Yeah, thats me, and who are you?" I say, leaning forward.
     "I'm Lilith Vixen, I write for the pulps."
     "What can I do for you Miss Vixen?" I ask, intrigued.
     "I'd like to ask about killing," she said plainly. I raised my eyebrow.
     "Why don't you have a seat," I say, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. She nodded and sat daintily in the chair, smoothing her skirts. I pulled out the bottle of scotch and a glass. I pour her a glass and give myself a refill. She clutched the glass in her thin fingers.
     "Thank you," she grinned.
     "So what do you want to know about killing?" I ask, taking a swig from my glass.
     "What's a good place to bump someone off?" she asked, setting the glass on my desk and pulling a notebook and a pencil from her purse.
     "Any where dark, A back alley, a warehouse. Preferably somewhere where where no one will see." I puff on my cigarette. "Or you could do it quick. Speed by in a car and fog him with your typewriter." She jotted what I was saying down in her notebook. Something about her writing got me excited; probably because as she leaned forward I could see down her shirt.
     "Alright... So why would someone kill?" she said, looking up at me. I adverted my eyes, so she didn't catch me staring.
     "Well all sorts of reasons. Greed, revenge, lust, struggle for power; just to name a few." I answered. She scribbled that down too.
     "Well thank you Mr. Mutt. I think I have everything I need." she said, tucking the notebook back into her purse.
     "No problem." I grinned as she stood. I was eager to check out her backside as she left, "Might I ask. Who's your dead man?" She grinned and pulled a sub-nosed revolver from her bag and pointed it at me.
     "Why you, of course," she said. Damn. Should have seen that coming. Dames always bring trouble...