2025

It was one of those days, the gray ones with the rain comin’ down like amber waves of grain. The kind of day they’d write a song about, but first you’d have to find your pen in the soup in front of your face. If there was a day to quit sticking the cancer sticks in my mouth, this wasn’t it.

I was leaning against the window sill, thinking about a diddy I’d heard on the AM in my Studebaker on the way into downtown. Something about a beach and a clam bake and whether they had enough food to go around. Seemed like something you shoulda thought about before throwin’ a clam bake in the first place, but what did I know? The only clams I ever saw were the singles that never seemed to make it into the bank account.

That’s when I heard the squeal from the door. The moisture made it stick, but the hinges made it honk. I turned around, expecting my secretary. Delores wasn’t known for being punctual. She wasn’t known for much of anything, which was how I could afford her in the first place.

But it wasn’t Delores, not unless her last séance was a success and she came back as another dame. This one, she wasn’t what I usually got on a Monday. Not even a Tuesday. This was a Friday night dame, the kind who showed up at the bar in a fur and a set of pearls and a dress that went all the way up. She has legs for days; weeks, maybe. The kind of arms that sell themselves. A face you’d see in the pictures. The ones you’d pay full price for.

I stubbed out the cig and dropped into my chair. Same squeak as the door, but a lot less inviting. “Can I help ya, toots?”

She gave me one of them looks, the ones that make your toes curl and your ear hairs wiggle. “Have you started yet?”

I leaned a little further back. Now the wood in the chair was getting’ the squeaks. “Didn’t remember havin’ a job for a broad like you. That I’d definitely remember.” I gave her the smile I reserved for paying customers.

Her baby blues rolled over and showed me something that reminded me of a birthday cake. A big one set to explode. “The Christmas letter. The one you said you’d have done by now? It’s already December 30th. The cards went out already. People keep calling to ask when the letter is getting posted online.”

I let the chair have a breather and leaned forward. “Listen, doll, I’ve got a lot on my plate, what with my partner getting offed and all.” Wasn’t a priority, but this skirt didn’t need to know that.

“Did you hit your head again?”

It was Smokey Two Fingers who hit me, but I hit him back, and then he stopped long enough to point with his last digit. Freddy Blue Balls was next on my list. He’d be at the joint down by the docks in a couple hours.

But the dame wasn’t done yappin at me yet. “Don’t forget to include some details about our trip.”

“You were on a trip, you say? Is that where it happened?”

“Where what happened?”

“Where whatever it is you wanna hire me to look into.”

She closed her eyes. That shallow breathing routine might fool a lot of joes, but not this one. “The trip to California.”

“Never been. Sounds like a nice place to lay low.” Which was good, cause Freddy Blue Balls wasn’t gonna go quietly.

“Make sure you mention my mother.”

“She got gams like yours?”

She had that look, the one that says I was half a sandwich short of a lunch special. “She came with us on the trip.”

“This trip, where did you go?”

Her eyes got thinner than the veneer on my desk. “We went to Klamath Falls, then Arcata. My dad was there? So was my brother and his family.” She reached for my forehead.

Her touch was like a warm slap on a cold side of ham. I was into it. “So what did you do on this, trip?”

“We went on hikes, including a particularly unpleasant one at the Trees of Mystery. How do you not remember this? The hike from the top that the sign said was for ‘advanced hikers’ that ended up being a vertical slip-n-slide with a rope to help you not die. You have to remember this. You and my brother practically carried by mother down.”

“This the mother with the gams?”

She sighed. “You guys barely made it down. Terissa and the dog had no problem, but everyone else felt like they’d spent the afternoon stomping grapes on a lava field.”

“Sounds like a cool party. What else did you do, toots?”

“Tried to recreate an old family photo. It turned out okay.”

“So when did the jewels go missing?”

“Jewels?”

I kicked my feet up on the desk. “Coy ain’t a good look on you, sweetheart. No one walks through those doors unless something or someone has gone missing.”

“Is this like 2022 when you fell and gave yourself a concussion?”

“Don’t turn this around on me, doll face. When did you know the bearer bonds were toast?”

“Bearer…is there a camera in here I don’t know about?”

She was a crafty one, this broad. I hadn’t been across the poker table from someone like this in months. “So this trip, what else happened?”

“We went back to Redlands. Saw your family? Ringing any bells?”

“The only bells I’m ringing are the ones that rhyme with mingle. Now wat’s this Redlands place? You go there to lay low when the fuzz have you in a pinch?”

“We grew up there. Seriously, I’m going to get my keys and we can see if an x-ray will clarify your current problem.” She turned to go. Those gams.

“Slow down, doll. What’s your rush? We’re just getting’ started here. What else did we do?” Might as well let the nutter think we were speaking the same language.

“That was it. We drove home. The kids started school.”

I wasn’t normally in to dames with baggage, but with this looker I was willing to ignore the warning signs and roll for a pair of sixes. “Go on.”

“Zoe started high school. The twins started middle school.”

Jesus, twins. Maybe letting this fish swim back out to sea was the smarter move. “High school ain’t easy.” Not even for a smooth talkin’ Joe like me.

She stepped closer. The smell coming off her reminded me of flowers. Good flowers. The kinds you have to pay extra for. “Zoe went to Homecoming. She had a date.”

I liked dates. I was a big fan of Medjool.

“The twins ran track. They played basketball. Alexa is even thinking about playing soccer.”

I’d heard of soccer. Some kind of fancy pants overseas game where they bounced the ball off their heads, kicked each other. Not my kind of game.

I leaned back in my chair. It creaked some more, like a warning I was too much of a chump to pay attention to. “Anything else? How about you, dollface. You look like you can take care of yourself.”

Her eyes thinned. “Work was fine. My patients are a known quantity.”

My patience was starting to wear a little. But yowza, those gams. “And what about me? Where do I fit into this racket?”

“You published a book. Two of them, actually.”

I snorted. “Funny. I’m not even sure I know how to read.”

Her eyes rolled. “I’m sure your readers felt the same.”

I smiled. Now I was starting to like this minx. “Anything else?”

“You had surgery two weeks ago, which is why I’ve let you slack off on writing the holiday letter until,” she checked her watch, “January 3rd.”

Surgery. Like I was gonna let a sawbones anywhere near my bark. I picked up a pencil and made some notes. This wasn’t a case for me. I’d send it off to Lenny over in Pacoima. Let him gnaw some meat off this bone. In the meantime, I’d see if this highbrow dame wanted to slum a little with me. “Anything else?”

“Are you taking your pain meds?”

“What are you, my mother?”

Her eye got thinner than the pours at the local bar. “Sometimes.”

I decided a new way to get this dish to see some sunlight. “You wanna get outta here? Take this discussion somewhere more interesting and with less,” I waved my hand around, “beige?”

“This room is blue.”

Colorblind and off her meds. My kinda dame. “How about the horse track? My guy says Ankle’s Biter is a sure thing in the third.”

“Pass. Now, when you’re done in here playing Columbo, please take the trash cans to the curb.”

If that was some kinda code for getting naked and rolling around for an afternoon, I was ready to hop in my Studebaker and take her to whatever flophouse she called home. “Sure, dollface. Sure. Let me get my coat.” And my hat. Not much of a dick without a fedora. Or a gun. I picked up the trusty Browning I’d carried during the war. That and my Tommy were my only true friends back then. That and the cheap wine we found all over France when some friendly frog with a bathtub was offering.

“Where are you going with the three-hole punch?” She looked at me like I was as batty and she was.

“I never leave home without my Browning.”

She sighed, the kind of sigh that tells stories. Good stories. Stories that get outta hand and become novels.

Then she glared at me. A glare that would eat through steel. “And, just a reminder, this isn’t a pants free house. If you wanna Winnie the Pooh, do it in our room where the kids won’t see. They’re going to have enough therapy in their future with…someone with lots of head injuries as their father.” She shook her head then walked right out of my office.

Gave me a great view of those gams as she hoofed it toward the stairs.