Detective Spangler moved behind my chair. Breeze, his partner, stood in front and said, “We’ve got two stiffs connected to the Matthews dame you’re working for. It’s time to spill what you know.”
“Sure. And to hell with detective-client confidentiality, right? Go pound salt!”
Spangler’s sap hit just behind my ear. From the floor I watched the dust motes dance gaily in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window of my office.
Marlowe, I thought, you’re an ass. It’s like you’re always playing out a scene in some cheap dime novel. You really need to mature as a character!
James C. Clar is a teacher and writer who divides his time between Upstate New York and the mean streets of Honolulu, Hawaii.
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