Detective Richard Dick is hired to look into mysterious
disappearances in the town of Wareville. His client is enormous, the
suspects are bizarre and the situation is turning critical. This isn't
Dick's typical case but, then again, this laugh-out-loud story isn't
your typical mystery either!
It was a hot, brutally hot, July afternoon. Through my third floor
office window, the monotonous Chicago skyline was silhouetted against a
yellow haze. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a furtive movement. I
moved cautiously, avoiding any sudden motion as my hand crept towards
the weapon on the edge of my desk. Finally, I grasped the wire-handled
flyswatter as my eyes concentrated upon my intended victim. My hand
swept forward, upward and then downward in a barely discernable blur and
the deed was done. Five. Five kills. It had been a spectacularly
A commotion in the hallway outside of my office caused me to look up
towards my glass door. “Richard Dick, Private Investigations” was
printed on the glass. I was reading it backwards from inside the room. I
couldn’t make out what it read.
The doorknob rattled, the door swung open, and SHE stood there, framed
in the doorway. A delectable fringe benefit associated with the careers
of all private dicks is when beautiful, exotic women unexpectedly walk
through the door. This was not to be one of those cases. In fact,
“framed” doesn’t accurately illustrate HER presence in my doorway.
“Wedged” would be more precise.
Her perfume preceded her entrance into my office, a distinctive
fragrance, best described as “Eau de Manure Spreader.” She oozed into
the room, like “The Blob” on its mission to absorb another victim.
Her voice was like the sultry screech of a burned-out bearing, as she
began, “Mr. Dick, I hate to simply barge into your office without
“That’s quite all right. Take a seat, and please, call me Dick.”