• Yes, I used Sims to illustrate •

Someone was playing music as if they had a party going at 9.45 in the morning. Of course that was a possibility. The chances that someone was hosting a 'morning-after' party the morning after New Years were pretty reasonable.

I carried myself up the staircase, already looking forward to getting settled. I hated unpacking, even if I didn't own much. It was dull and counterproductive. Especially when you hardly were home.

I reached the third floor and found the right door. 34B. That was me.

And apparently the party-music was my neighbors. Lovely.

I threw my box down on the floor in front of my door and started searching through my pockets for my key. The one I literally just picked up from the landlord two floors down. It would be a new record if I already managed to lose it.

And you're a detective. You find things for a living, my sarcastic inner voice reminded me.

"For fuck's sake," I cursed under my breath, finally finding the damn key. Just as I was putting the key into the keyhole, my neighbors door swung open with a wham.

"... don't fucking understand you, Amy, you're a piece of work, you know that?!" Some guy who was pulling on his jacket shouted into the apartment. He was obviously pissed, purely judging from his words, to the sound of his angry voice and the sneer on his face. His short black hair was tousled and his clothes looked wrinkled—never mind the stench of alcohol hanging around him like the worst cologne in the world.

"Nobody forced you to come by last night Maddox, if you want to blame someone for making stupid decisions, blame yourself." A female voice suddenly spoke. While the guy was heading towards the staircase, my eyes drifted to the woman who appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but an oversized man's shirt and dear God, I hoped underwear. Her makeup was smeared under her eyes and her brown hair that clearly had been curled with a curling iron last night was messy and thrown into a careless bun on top of her head. She held a cigarette in between her fingers, and as soon as she saw me there, her eyes did a take of me, just like I did her.

"Who are you?" She questioned while the Maddox-guy stomped down the stairs with muffled angry curses.

I lifted the key in my hand. "Your new neighbor."

"Oh," She said, her eyebrows shooting upwards, obviously caught by surprise. "Well I guess you just got your warm welcome to the building then. Sorry about that," She glanced after Maddox. "I'm Amy."

"Russell," I replied, trying to keep my eyes peeled on her face. Yeah, even if she had all the signs of the 'morning-after-having-just-fucked' look, she was admittedly hot. Long legs I could tell were exercised from dancing, cute toes that probably curled a lot last night, elegant fingers which were probably skilled in the art of clawing, a sculpted décolletage that accentuated her slender neck—

You're deducing. Stop.

"Nice to meet you," She held out her hand—after popping the cigarette in between her plump lips—and I gave it a shake. As suspected, she had soft hands.

"Likewise."

"I'll let you return to moving in," She said, blowing out a cloud of smoke, the smell like torture to my nearly-five-months-nicotine-free body. "Feel free to knock on my door if you need something. Anything."

I studied her face, counting the possibilities of that having a doubling meaning. She wasn't a prostitute, that much I could tell, but she was offering me, after having just kicked a guy out who clearly rang the new year in between her legs.

"Right, thanks," I replied, gritting my teeth. "I'll keep that sound in mind."

With a smile that could only be described as seductive, Amy took a step backwards into her still-booming-with-music apartment and closed the door.

"I'm certainly not in Kansas anymore," I said to myself, before unlocking my own door. Picking up my box, I walked in.

Plain white walls. Light wooden floors. Bed and bathroom in one end;  living room and kitchen in the other. The apartment was already slightly furnished with an old couch, a bed and a nightstand, but that was about it. This was my new home.

I dumped the box down on the floor again and ran my hand through my hair, sighing heavily. This was so different from Wichita. The vibe was different, the sun was brighter here. Of course Miami Florida was known as the sunshine state, so that pretty much spoke for itself. Still, even knowing that, it was still such a big change from my humdrum life back in Kansas. Yet not one part of me missed it.

After about two minutes of contemplating just ditching the rest of my shit down in my car, I convinced myself to go get it. All the while the music next door kept booming. Three trips up and down the stairs later, my six pathetic boxes of crap stood in my apartment, already cluttering.

Just then, saving me from the idea of actually unpacking, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped it open. "Crane."

"We got a case for you, Detective. They're asking specifically for you."

Closing my eyes and leaning my head back, I felt a smile slide on to my lips. "20 minutes, I'm coming in."

~~~

After nine hours of talking to the police, visiting the scene of the crime which was a real fucking mess I might add, then going back to the police station to go through the evidence, then questioning the witnesses myself, and then finally, having been handed over all the files I needed, I was back in my apartment which was as empty and lonely as I left it. My boxes had already collected the first specs of dust, but I couldn't be bothered. I was lying on top of my bed, going through the files with a bottle of gin in my hand.

Yeah, you're the best fucking detective out there, my inner sarcastic voice drawled. Drinking while working. Classy. Where's that medal they gave you?

Working a muscle in my jaw, I flipped a page and scanned the evidence. Even if I fucking got wasted to the point of drooling while speaking, I could still solve a case in less than a week and that was when I was drunk. When I wasn't, cases like these could be solved in days. At best, hours. That's why the police contacted me. Because I was the best there was.

"Oh, yes..."

I was pretty sure that wasn't my inner voice giving me a pat on the back. Even in my half-drunken state of inebriation, I knew for certain that that didn't come from my head.

"Ahh, fuck yes!"

I turned and glared back at my wall, the one my headboard was faced up against. As if it was the wall that had spoken, I frowned at it. What the hell?

"Oh God, yes, yes, yes, ahh, fuck!"

What. The actual. Fuck.

My wall was thinner than a goddamn sheet of paper. I recognized the voice as my neighbor's; Amy. And based on the sounds she was making, it would seem that her and that Maddox-guy, had made up after their argument.

I scoffed. Wonderful. I got to hear them fuck all night now.

When the sounds continued and my concentration faltered, I balled up my fist and was prepared to knock on the wall to let them know they were being loud. But then my hand froze as I heard her next words—her next moan.

"Oh, Russell!"

• • •

Welcome to Detective. Ready to get seduc—I mean, deduced?