Private Eye

The dame stepped out of the shadows as my fedora hit the desk. I snapped on the light to find her lowering herself onto the only extra chair in the office.

Her hair was the color of a banana left in the sun on a hot day. She patted it as she crossed her gams, flashing thick cankles. From her glad-rags and the ice 'round her chubby pipes, I easily deduced she had the bees. Whatever her case may be, I knew it'd be duck soup getting twenty large from the skirt.

"I know ya ain't here to bump-gumps, doll. Spill the beans."

"I heard you know how to find things," she simpered, peeking at me from behind her unibrow.

"Yeah? Watcha lost?" I rested my dogs on the desk, lit up a gasper, and blew a ring of smoke above my head.

"My sister, Tina." She pulled out a hanky and dabbed her baby-blues. "She was supposed to arrive yesterday for the reading of our father's will but...she never showed."

"Plane, train, or automobile?" I ask.

"Excuse me?"

"How was she gettin' to town, toots?"

"Plane. I was at the airport to pick her up but--"

"Yeah, yeah. She never showed." I crushed out the butts. "Let me drop some dimes and I'll see what I can do. There are a few dirty rats that owe me..."

She stretched her getaway sticks and stood with a smile. I gave the kitten the gate and grabbed the horn.

I met Babyface Jane in a dark alley, off Main Street. The goofy goon might have been a fakeloo artist, but he was the gink to go to for word on the street.

"How many berries ya offerin' fer this one?" Babyface fixed me with a stare and crossed his arms over his wide chest.

"I ain't gonna chisel ya any, Babyface," I assured him, pulling out a stack of cabbage and pressing it into his meaty palm.
He immediately started singing like a canary.

"It weren't no delayed flight, that's fer sure," Babyface grinned. "Someone offed the poor looker. And yer meat ain't no jasper. Jaw is, yer hatchetman is a bim."

"Is there a moniker to thi--"

A blast of Chicago lightening suddenly lit up the alley. Babyface Jane went down with a groan while I hit the ground, slamming my face on the dirty cement. Pulling out my own bean shooter, I aimed at the piece of iron parked near the corner and fired. The heap lammed off and I slapped the ground in frustration.

With nose bleeding, I sighed and took a slant at Babyface Jane's mug. The egg had a bad case of lead poisoning. I frowned. Babyface might have been a Johnson brother that should've been thrown in the pen long ago, but he didn't deserve to be knocked off.

I called the meat wagon for Babyface before hailing a hack. I was hunched over my cup of Joe, shnozzle bruised and sore and feeling like an infant, when the flattie showed up. He pulled out a deck, lit up, and gestured for a jorum of skee.

"Casey," he nodded and blew out a puff of smoke. "Heard you're working on finding a number. Got yourself in a bit of jam, they say."

I lifted my coffee to my lips and glanced over the rim at the peeper. The gin mill's old, yellow glass light bulbs cast a sallow glow over the elephant ears' mug as he took a seat next to me.

"Tony, unless you're gonna help me tighten the screws, then I suggest you go climb up your thumb," I growled.

The copper sipped his giggle juice. "Let me guess...there's a dame involved."

"Isn't there always?" I sighed, setting my cup down with a thump.

"Anything hinky about her?" Tony grilled.

I narrowed my eyes. "Ya givin' me the third, Tony?"

"Just trying to be helpful," he pushed his glass to the bartender for another shot and gave me a side-glance. "I could drift, if you'd rather."

I swallowed the last of my java. "I might be tooting the wrong ringer, but as long as ya ain't asking for any cush, I'd be willing to take a lending hand. Seems I'm behind the eight-ball on this one."

Over another cup of Joe for me and another shot of tiger milk for Tony, I spilled the story.

"Eggs in the coffee," Tony shrugged. "It ain't hard to crab that your dish popped her sister."

"She ain't no tomato," I laughed. "However, I think you've put the finger on the twist. I'd wager she wanted to glom her father's inheritance and the only way to do it was to have her sister rubbed out."

I threw down a yard, pushed my chair out, and stood.

"You're quite the wise head, Tony." I shrugged into my tweed coat, pulling the collar up around my neck. "It's all well and good knowing this dame offed her sister, but how do I prove it?"

"A broad like her probably packs iron," Tony sniffed. He raised his cup and tossed fiery liquid down his gullet. "Check her bean shooter. I'd bet all my spinach her bullets match the ones in the stiff. Just watch she don't squirt metal at ya."

I tipped my fedora at Tony and nodded to the barkeep. It was time to throw the broad under glass.