Love Letters from the Skeleton Kingdom of the Moon - Part 1

Cable sat with his back to the door. The fluorescent lights shone dully off of the white wall tiles. Idly, the detective reached out and gathered up some papers with his right hand. He stacked them, put a new one on top, and then casually disregarded them back onto the counter from where they had been scooped. One fell into the wash basin and droplets of water immediately discolored the black typewriter text. Cable fished it out and examined it; a statement of intent to seize his office. The date on the top was now blurred, but the envelope it had been sealed in had arrived six months ago. The letter was not particularly civil in tone. A less civil letter had arrived two months after that, and two months later some men came by who were so uncivil they might actually have been described as "impolite".
Cable rocked left, and then right, then left in his office chair, rolling it gently across the linoleum floor. The mirror to his right needed cleaning. He made a mental note to probably do absolutely nothing about it. The globe-shaped lightbulbs above the glass hurt his retinas to look at. Three of them had burned out, the last just this morning. On-off-on-on-off-on-off. "Just like life," Cable thought to himself. The door opened and someone wearing high heels walked in. "You have the wrong door," said Cable, without turning around. "Either that, or you're dyslexic and trying to find the "moor s'nem"."
"I never believed much in propriety," replied a nonchalant contralto voice. Cable rotated his chair around.
"Well I never believed much in Santa Claus," he offered, "but that doesn't mean I went around spoiling it for everyone else." The woman was of medium height and slender build, in her right hand she held a brown alligator-skin briefcase. She was wearing a khaki suit jacket and skirt, with a white blouse and a hat off to one side over her delicately ringed blonde hair. A lacy white veil descended over the top half of her angelic face, behind it heavy lashes and cool blue eyes. The bathroom's garish fluorescent light destroyed the look completely.
"You are Cable Meridian?" she asked. She offered up her left hand, in it a piece of paper which had until a moment ago been taped to the outside of the door. It read, "Meridian Investigative Agency" in black sharpie. Up until two months ago it had instead been taped to the door of a very nice office where Cable had conducted his business. Times had changed.
"I hope you're paying well," Cable said with lids half closed. "Scotch tape doesn't come free."  
"If it's your sign you're worried about, let me assuage you," she lilted invitingly. She set down the briefcase on the washroom counter and opened it. Click, click. From inside she produced a handsome brass rectangle, custom engraved with Cable's name and occupation. The detective leaned forward in his chair and straightened his fedora.
"So you're not here by mistake," he stated.
"You were recommended to me by an acquaintance," she said with a vague smile.  "My name is Verity September Jones.  Do you accept cases dealing with zombies?"
"Well..." said Cable.  He gave her another eyeing.  From behind the walls a drip echoed through the small hotel washroom. "I've never turned one down."

-J