She stepped into my office like she owned the place.
Later, I found out that it wasn't my office. It turned out she did own the place.
Ah, well. That's the way it goes.
I stepped out onto the rain-slicked street and took a drag from my cigarette, watching the moonlight dance on an oily puddle.
Watching moonlight dance on oily puddles while smoking a cigarrette was my specialty, but that's expected in the business. After all, I'm not exactly a garden care specialist. I'm a private eye.
I walked down the avenue, stopping at the bar on the corner. I pushed through the door into the depressing atmosphere, strolling to the bar. The bartender quickly got out a glass, wiped it with a grimy old rag, filled it with Scotch, and set it down in front of me.
I extinguished the cigarrette in the ashtray and drank deeply from the glass. I turned to face the rest of the little dive, looking around at the quiet, depressed patrons.
Trouble sat down on the barstool next to me. It was in the form of a brunette, as usual.
"I have a case for you," she said to the man next to her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, "I'm a chiropractor."
She seemed discouraged at first, and then turned to face me.
"I have a case for you," she said again.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, taking another drink of the Scotch.
"My apartment was ransacked. I don't know what happened, but I lost about two grand in money that I had hid in a sock, as well as about three hundred in damages," she said, "Can you help me?"
"No problem," I answered.
I smiled. This was going to be fun.