Private Dick, The

Yeah, I'm a dick all right. The biggest dick in town. When a fella
needs something and can't go to the coppers, this is the dick he calls.
I'm not a limp dick either. I pack a .38 in a shoulder holster.
Sometimes you need an edge and nothing gives an edge like the Smith and
Wesson brothers.

When I got back to the office Midge, my secretary, had a message for
me. Midge was a pretty blonde on the wrong side of thirty, but she was
quick with a light, or a handjob. I like that in a girl.
The message was from a Mr. P. Waterson of Westwood. Said it was urgent
and he had cash. I like cash. I like cash and a good handjob. Two
minutes later I was in the Chrysler and hightailing it over to the west
side.

I pulled into 320 Bundy. It was a Greco Roman job with a little boy
relieving himself in a fountain. I scared the kid away and looked the
place over. It was the kind of house were a fella might stand out in
front and think: "Wow, those Greco Roman's really knew how to build
things. Wonder if they liked handjobs?"

I introduced the buzzer to Mr. Index Finger and after a what seemed
thirty seconds the butler answered. He was about hundred years old with
a face like a man who seen one too many cock fights. He took my hat,
which really made me mad, and led me to the study.
Old man Waterson was flopped down on a chair in front of a fire. It
seemed odd on such a hot afternoon, but I guess chairs are pretty
popular nowadays.

"I gather you are Marlowe."

"Yeah. The dick not the playwright."

"I'm sorry?"

"Christopher Marlowe: The Jew of Malta and Dr. Faustus," I
explained.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You don't need to, that what I'm paid for."

He seemed to be confused, like a Cherokee Indian at a German opera. I
wasn't sure I wanted to work for a man who couldn't keep his ducks in a
row, But I hung tough.

"Mr. Marlowe, I want you to find my daughter, Gina. She's been missing
for over a month. She is my pride and joy, not to mention my only
reason for my still being alive. She was last seen by me on the 20th of
May, two days after her birthday. We had a heated argument and we both
said things shouldn't have, but myself in particular. In a fit of
passion I told her she was adopted and would never inherit my fortune.
She stormed off and I haven't seen or heard from her since. "

I have to admit I wasn't listening. He had these painting of half naked
fat angels I couldn't take my eyes off of. Do angels give handjobs, I
wondered? I snapped out of it and gave him the interested look I
reserve for only my best employers.

"Don't worry, Mr. Waterson, I'll find your dog."

"Daughter, you mean?"

"Yeah. Daughter. Dead or a live I'll bring her back."

"Dead or---"

"Never mind, never mind. Just dick talk."

"I see. Danders, my butler, will give you all the details we have.
Good day, sir."

I met Danders in the hallway and he tried to hand me a letter with all
the details.

"Enough of that, where's my hat?"

The walking mummy ran off and returned with my trusty fedora. I put it
on. It was like a call girl at a gymnasium. Nice fit.

"Will the case take very long to solve?" he asked.

"I'm already done."

"What?" he responded.

I grabbed his hair and attempted to pull off his mask. I've been in
the business too long not to notice a dame in fancy costume. The hair
finally gave. Danders stood there holding his bleeding scalp. I tried
to sell him an apology, but he wasn't buying. I gave him back the hair,
grabbed the letter and left.

As I was getting I in my Chrysler, Gina pulled up. She said she was
away visiting friends at Fawn Lake and was eager to make up with daddy.
I clubbed her with my blackjack and carried her inside. Mr. Waterson
was so pleased I found his daughter, he gave me twice my fee. I took
the money and drove down to Hollywood boulevard. Those twists give the
best handjobs. The best.