I heard the outside door get kicked open and I seized up. There was a crash as my desk (or my bookshelf?) was overturned, the thump knocking my framed DiMaggio photo askew on the wall. Seems the riff-raff I was hired to find found me first. At least they saved me the trouble of twisting the arms of my contacts – Lazy Ed didn’t owe me any more favors, so information would have cost a pretty penny.
Another thump, and DiMaggio slid off the wall, glass shattering as it crashed to the floor. “I’ll be adding that to her tab,” I thought as I reached into the pocket of the jacket hung on the hook just above me. Beneath a few Almond Joy wrappers I felt the smooth handle of my Colt. Pushing up the brim of my cap, I eyed the door in front of me. The ruckus on the other side continued – they were still occupied, so it was now or never. I slowly cracked open the door, gun drawn.
The flushing startled them just long enough for me to get off the two shots I needed. “Easiest case yet,” I muttered as I hiked up my slacks.