A Hard Case (Part 1)
My secretary fired me.
Detective stories usually begin: We’d been dry-humping on the couch in my office when my secretary said she wanted to be nude, all nude. But here we go instead: “You haven’t paid me in weeks. You haven’t had a new case in months. The cases you’ve got are stone cold dead. You’re the worst detective in world. You couldn’t detect stink in a garbage dump.”
She slammed the door so hard it broke the etched glass panel the last sign painter in town had recently enlivened with my agency’s logo.
The phone rang when I was about to call it a day. My secretary was gone. I answered.
“Sloane Investigations, Ned Sloane speaking.”
“You the D-d-divorce D-d-detective?”
Wanda, my former secretary, had placed an ad in the local paper. She’d gone to art school for a bit, and claimed her linked-D logo illustrated the concept that we specialize in divorce cases. Other investigators won’t touch them any more. “Sir, you either have a stammer or you’re a poor reader. I’m the Double-D Divorce Detective. I only handle cases where the unfaithful party is stacked. You got a case for me?”
“Oh boy, do I ever. My Doris—that is, she used to be my Doris—has big’uns. That’s how come we wound up together in the first place. Couldn’t keep my mitts offa her.”
Whoever was on the other end of the line was about to cry. A lost pair of big tits is tragic. I thought about my ex-secretary, Wanda. Private eyes are obliged to grope their girls Friday, but I’d never gotten grabby with her. Not much to grab. Just like my ex-wife. Meanwhile, the new client sobbed, sniffled and gasped.
“Pull yourself together, sir. So, you think your wife’s been unfaithful.”
“She might’ve been, but the thing is, she’s run away, with all our money. I mean, all my money!”
“Now that’s serious, Mister…”
“Frawley. Odom Frawley. Any chance you’d work this job pro bono? That means for free, doesn’t it?”
“Mr. Frawley, if you look at the ad’s fine print, it states that I work pro boner. Show me a snapshot of your wife, preferably nude. If she’s hot, I’ll take the case. For a hundred bucks a day, plus expenses.”
“That sounds awful cheap.”
“Hey whatever you say bud.”
Frawley said he had several of pictures of his wife with no clothes on.
Here’s one of them:
Horror Sleaze Trash 
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