It was 7:00 in the evening, and I was thinking about packing up my things and heading back to my run down apartment. Sure, my apartment never impressed visitors, but hell, it was better than this dump. It was dimly lit, and papers were everywhere… so were coffee stains, shards of glass, floorboards coming up, broken file cabinets… not to mention shell casings and bullet holes. I looked around and decided it was time to leave.

Suddenly, I heard running footsteps. I dropped the whiskey bottle that had somehow found its way into my hand, and I picked up my gun. That's when she came through the door. She was a gorgeous, tall, blonde dame wearing a shirt that if it were any tighter, it would be backwards and inside out, and if it were any shorter, it would have been nonexistent.

"Help me, Detective Roberts!" she gasped, slamming the door. The clock fell off the wall and shattered on the ground.

"Not again," I grumbled.