He stood chewing gum and watching me through the blank lenses of his dark glasses as I pulled out. I was making myself very popular with the authorities today. No one was waiting to take advantage of my considerable services as I walked through the shallow outer room to my office and unlocked the door. The blinds were drawn, casting a gray haze over the desk and filing cabinets that came with the rent, the telephone that rang only when I wasn’t there, the safe my late partner had bought to store valuables in and that usually contained my laundry, and the general appearance of competition the Pinkertons didn’t lose much sleep over. So much of the lettering A. WALKER INVESTIGATIONS had flaked off the outer door that the pebbled glass looked like a flea’s dance chart. It wasn’t much better with the lights on, but it was where I made my living, or tried to. “You May Have Already Won,” gushed the only letter in the slot. I laughed nastily and flipped it into the green metal wastebasket on my way to the desk.
