Partly Cloudy, 64°
It’s been two months since your last case, and let’s just say things have looked better. You’re down to your last can of baked beans and you could play a game of basketball with all the bouncing checks. But this morning, before you could even take off your hat, in flounces a tall woman with a red dress and even redder lipstick.
POINT: This Dame Looks Like Heaven, But She’s Got Hell Written All Over Her by Guy Ford, PI
Come on. You’ve fallen for this before. A good-looking dame comes in here all in a tizzy, asking you to find her daughter or catch her husband cheating. Sure, she says she’ll pay, but when you wind up in an alleyway plus two black eyes and minus three teeth, you always start to wonder whether it’s been worth it.
Damn, you’re starting to stare into her eyes. Stop that. Just because they’re the same shade of green as Bobbi’s, and when you peer into them you can practically see Bobbi looking back at you, eyes shining, the way she did before the accident at Echo Park – doesn’t mean this broad’s the answer to your problems.
Just look at her. All told, she’d probably cause you more.
You can find a better case than this, plain as day. Convince Jim down at the paper to run another classified, even though all you can pay him is a story about the way things used to be. Put up signs or, hell, go door-to-door if you have to. Anything that isn’t letting this gorgeous woman rope you into another one of those cases that seems simple on the surface, only to turn and drag you into a never-ending spiral of danger and deceit.
It’s rough out there for a gumshoe with a gimpy leg and a broken heart, sure. But come on, Guy. Say no.
COUNTERPOINT: Please, Detective, I’m At My Wit’s End And I Simply Don’t Know What To Do! by Trixie Hart
Oh, Mr. Ford. You’re a hard man to track down, you know that?
Normally, I wouldn’t show up before you’ve even had your morning coffee, but I just didn’t know where else to turn. You see, it’s my sister. She’s been acting rather queer lately – leaving home late at night, hardly picking at her supper, and even scribbling strange notes all around her quarters.
I just don’t know what’s gotten into her – but I know you’re the man to find out.
I think it may have to do with the man she’s been seeing. They’ve been out on the town quite a bit by now, and he takes her to the Blue Locket nearly every night. Now, I’ve never been myself – that bar’s no place for a lady like me all by her lonesome – but I hear Big Al Brockton’s crew is always hanging around. Maybe she’s wrapped up in some funny business with those lowlifes!
Oh, don’t look away, Mr. Ford. I’m at my wit’s end and you’re my only hope. I love my sister, and I’m just plain frightened!
I’m willing to pay handsomely, Mr. Ford. Very handsomely. And I promise to make it worth your while.
Whaddaya say?
