“We risked going to prison for a flashlight?” Big Ricky’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. Meager light from a flickering yellow streetlamp outlined the alley’s brick wall and a dumpster off to the side. A brisk September breeze swept past them as Ricky and Jimmy crept down the alley. You wouldn’t have guessed…
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The arrow ripped open my pant leg, slicing into my thigh. Leave it to the Mythic Mafia to get all theatrical with their weapon choices.
“Are you hurt, sir?” the girl beside me asked.
“Shut up and run,” I ordered.
We raced around a corner. Well, she raced, and I limped.
Most people are skeptical when they hear a sentient cake has a PI’s license, but get your picture in the paper enough, and you begin to gain credibility with a capital C. That, and the delicious smell of my chocolate ganache, is how Agatha Vanderbruin Von Marnestein found her way to my office.
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Planet Kraken’s space port was one of the busiest in the galaxy—the perfect place for smugglers to sneak goods out right from under the government’s nose.
Leaning against my leg, Rigel whined, his ears pricked forward. I knelt beside him, rubbing his head. His coat looked a little shaggy; my best mate
Nine o’clock sharp. Come alone, at the church.
Don’t forget the forgery.
-Antonio
The bumpy road grated beneath my tires as I pulled off the interstate. The cold of the AC raised goosebumps along my bare arms and penetrated my leather gloves. My car, a modified Model-S Tesla with hidden compartments
Two multiple-homicides in a 3-block radius, and I got the one with no survivors.
Dark backroom. Dead bodies still seated around a game of poker.
Each man was a high-ranking member of the Martinez Gang. Even if I didn’t know them from run-ins or rap sheets, the distinctive neck tattoos advertised it.
“You must have set it wrong.”
Vinny’s voice boomed, making my ears ring. Who had set what wrong? Where was I? More importantly, did they know I’d been informing on them for the last six months?
“There’s nothing to set!” Sal said. A thunderous thud of footfalls passed me. “See? Just a big red start button to turn it on.”
If I’d been smart, I never would have taken that dame’s job. Never should have left the office.
With the afternoon sun blazing down, I watched from my window as Mrs. Malloy strode down the street with her blond hair caught up in a net, a knit cardigan over her shoulders, and plaid skirt skimming her knees.
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The greeter looked tired, overworked. And she was definitely a cop. The way she stood, the way she talked…
Ah, Vinnie, I thought with amusement. All this for me?
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