I knew when I saw her through the crack in the door that this dame was trouble. Maybe it was the come hither eyes. Maybe it was the little black dress, heavy on the little, light on the dress. Or maybe it was the giant Viking helmet with the massive horns that sat atop her head. I don't know.
"How do I do ya?" I asked in a slip of accidental honesty.
"What?"
"I said, 'What can I do for ya?'," I lied. She looked at me curiously for a moment and then pushed the door open and breezed in.
"Are you the detective they call Tony Dagger?" she asked.
"I'm Dagger," I answered. "Please, come in," I added sarcastically, closing the door.
"Mr. Dagger, I need your help," she said.
"Don't cry, miss," I said, reaching for my handkerchief.
"I'm not crying!" She looked at me, puzzled and a little annoyed. I could see that she was right. She wasn't crying.
"Sorry," I murmured, walking past her to take a seat at my desk. "Most dames are crying when they say that to me." I motioned for her to have a seat in the rickety wooden chair I kept for guests.
"Well," she replied, lowering herself delicately into the wobbly seat, "I'm not most women, Mr. Dagger."
"Call me Tony."
"I need your help, Tony," she repeated, looking at me earnestly and beginning to cry.
"Help with what?" I handed her the handkerchief.
"I can't remember where I put my Viking helmet," she sobbed.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
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