a tiny bar, The Orange Oreo, in Ficland Heights
“Evenin’ Miss Gwen.”
“Evening sir. The usual?”
“The usual, ‘cept make it a twee bit stronger, it’s a rough night.” The customer slumped onto one of the stools, head in hand, trying to shrug the rain off his coat.
Gwen slid the drink down the bar. He regarded it a moment, then took a thoughtful swig. “Y’hear about Detective Young?” he asked.
The barkeep glanced up from the glass she was wiping. “I’ve heard lots’a stuff about Detective Young. What trouble’s he in now?”
“Looks like his most recent case was his last. Got involved with a Miss Marli & an Eloquent Mess, somethin’ about Mess missin’. Then she went missin’, Young was picked up by Lawver, ended up at the Brown Estate, a dispute ensued, next thing y’know all’v’m’r dead.” He took another swig. “I wouldn’a done it; would’a taken a heluva woman to take that case. But he was always a sucker for the dames.”
Gwen shook her head. “Darn shame, f’y’ask me. He was my best customer, that ’tective Joe Young.”