and I was in my office, working hard on paperwork and a fresh hangover. Life's never easy for a private eye, and being a dame makes it about as easy as putting toothpaste back in the tube. That's right, I'm a broad, a woman, a skirt, a bird. Whatever you want to call me, I'm on the downhill side of 30 and I feel 40 bearing down on me like a Mac truck on a skunk at midnight. I used to be a hotty, a dish. Now the junks a little lower in the trunk, and the bedroom eyes look like they could use some sleep. Still, it's nothing some lipstick, low lighting, and a couple of drinks can't fix.
That's when she walked into my life. She was tall and blonde, with a shape that might have made me switch teams in another place and time. I knew something was wrong at the sight of her sunglasses. The weather was just too crappy for her to be acting mysterious.
"I need your help," she said, in a voice that had obviously done a bit of screaming lately.
"People don't usually just come here for my company and charm," I replied. "Who did it? Boyfriend, husband?"
"I guess you could call him my boss," she murmured. "I don't suppose you've heard of Tony Malone?"
to be continued...
