The dame had all eyes on her from the moment she walked in the door. A deputy’s newspaper fluttered to the ground as he stammered out, “You-you’re not supposed to be-“
Rather than acknowledging him, she strode over to my desk. “You the cop they say can solve anything?”
“Maybe so.” I looked up from my glass of whiskey and checked my watch: 10:47am. Damn. It was too early for this. “Why, you need something solved?”
She laughed under her breath as a response and slapped a photo printout onto the coffee ring-stained wood table in between us. Tiredly, and a bit annoyed, I picked it up and flipped it over. This dame had wasted enough of my time already.
“Huh.” This was new. In one motion, she’d become the focus of my attention. “You sure you want me to cover this? Maybe you oughta take it to the FBI or-“
“Nope.” She shook her head. “No FBI, no CIA, no nothing. I need you, Detective.”
With a resigned sigh, I stood up from my creaky desk chair and held out my hand, dropping the photo back onto the desk. “Alright, darling, you got a deal. I’ll look into this…
….’Froggy Chair.'”