Private eye, private cop, private dick. Call it what you like, it's a tough business. It's also my business. If you want to hire Frank Malone, you have to pay for him. And I don't come cheap. But then, the best never is cheap.
When you grow up on the mean streets, you learn to take care of yourself, or you're liable to wake up in a gutter--if you wake up at all. My mom, God bless her, did her best to keep me honest, and I wish she were still around so I could thank her. Unfortunately, she ran off to Rio the day I turned six, and I never heard from her again. Anyway, let me tell you about one of the most puzzling cases in my files. It involved Evil Editor. Ah, I see you've heard of him. No, no, it won't take long. I'm a man of few words. About 300 words, to be precise.
1 comment:
Crack in the pipe you're smoking there, huh?
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