The Tagging.

It was August 9th. I'd planned on taking the day off to spend time with my buddies. My buddies travel light, and they're fun to have around. One travels with a holster, and the other with a hip flask. My name is Cha. Cha Cha. They don't advertise for dicks in the newspaper. That was my profession. Ex-Mouser. Ex-birder. Ex-killer. I'm a private eye, says so on my door. If business was as good as my aim, I'd be on Easy Street. Instead, I've got an office on 49th Street and a nasty relationship with a string of collection agents.The humidity was high like a hippy after a dead show. Hotter than asphalt in the city, I was sleeping off a doozy of a hangover when suddenly my door swung open and in walked trouble. Brunette, as usual.
The last thing I wanted was a case, but the dame was hysterical, like dames usually are. What she need me for was unclear but the dame was persuasive. I had a hunch I'd be sorry I asked. I took her cross town to the crime scene and it became clear as smog over Las Angeles.
The perps were still there. I knew them. Four crazy broads with boobs like Pamela Anderson and attitudes like Mike Tyson. They trashed the place. The prize: oat crack. Their hunger was like piranha feeding on a goat dipped in the amazon with a paper cut. The broads had broke down the door to where the dame kept her crack and were now caught red handed. This gang had a history of petty theft and over eating but this was the first time I'd seen them escalate to violence.
Frannie, Daisy, and Gwen weren't talking. The ringleader Buella had got to them first since closing the mouths of those broads would have taken some work. I knew why I was brought in. The dame wanted answers. This was a puzzle with two pieces.
Gwen, the newest gang member broke first. Blathering on about her innocence and her attempted to stop the other three, her teeth marks on the wall proved otherwise. She may not have been smart enough to get further in the parlor than the ramp, but she did her share of damage.
My job was done here. The dame ask me in for coffee and to stay awhile. I asked for bourbon. I didn't know how long we'd have together... but who does?


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A many thanks to Bill Watterson and Hampton Fancher for quotes, inspiration and laughter.