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The Duck Quacks Twice

My bill clamped down hard on the wet cigarette as I pulled my fedora further down over my brow. Couldn't keep anything dry in this damn rain. A crisp breeze picked up, ruffling my tail feathers. Too chilly to stand here all day.

I looked at my beat-up watch; wasn't getting any younger. The lone street lamp played tricks in the wispy evening fog. No sounds of life echoed through the street, only the rain had my back. I glanced at the large house window but the drawn curtains blocked my view of any movement inside. What mallard could ask for a better night to confront a killer?

The case had been open for months. Someone was going around whacking males and taking more than their lives. The guy always went missing for days, maybe weeks depending if they were just some loner who kept to themselves. No signs of a fight or kidnapping--just gone without a trace. The only thing that tied them all together was the piece we'd kept from the papers: each mallard was missing their manhood. Made all the rookies back at the precinct lose their lunch or squeeze their legs together. Just made the chief angry. Seven dead ducks in a row and this case had to find its way into my lap.

I was left doing what I do best: sticking my bill in places it didn't belong. My scars eased me into the crack dens and gambling halls without much trouble. But it wasn't money or drugs that killed my victims. That left the deadliest option--a dame.

Took a while to waddle through some leads. Paid some off. Called in a favour or three. Eventually all the paths crossed here. I had accounts of locals seeing all my dead ducks passing through this doorway. Now I'd have to follow in their footsteps if I wanted to find out what happened to them.

Spitting my soggy cigarette butt onto the walkway, I knocked at the door with three sharp raps. When the silence inside was broken by footsteps, instinct had me wanting another smoke. Wasn't my first time undercover or going in alone. That's how I got these scars after all. Took a lot to scare me. Yet, when that knob began to turn, something told me this wouldn't be the same.

The door swung wide, and there stood a white, middle-aged dame silhouetted by the bright lights from inside. The duck wore a large, dark blue housecoat that sat like a murky pond on her shoulders. She took a step forward, her orange bill looking down, pond green eyes meeting mine. The cold frozen stare of an ice golem held me in place.

"Can I help you?" Her words cut the silence, snapping me out of my hypnotic gaze.

With a blink and a shake of my bill, I regained myself. I looked about to see if any prying eyes were watching. "I... have an appointment?"

Her eyes drew up and down my body. "Mr. Dubois?"

"Yes." I swallowed. She had the same stance as the instructor in the academy who made you shut your yap and sit up straight. "We spoke on the phone."

This seemed to be enough to convince her of who I was. She turned and walked back in, her words trailing but concise. "Come in, quickly. Shut the door behind you. Don't keep me waiting."

I felt released. Her eyes no longer held me where I stood and I was free to move. I nodded, not sure why with her back turned, and entered the house.