And so it begins: the long slow drift into nothingness. It was just two hours ago that I was standing outside The Marquee, watching as my best friend came out with my wife on his arm. I would say I felt betrayed if it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t surprised. I’ve seen it coming for months now. Long hours away from home leave the heart room to wander, I guess. What I do has never been easy and my love life has paid the price more times than I can count. But someone has to keep this town clean and, unfortunately or not, that somene is me. Now, back in my office down on Third street, in the old Steinway building, with a shot of bourbon burning it’s way through my digestion, I have to wonder if maybe I just shouldn’t bother anymore. Every year the streets get a bit more dangerous, every year more lives are lost to the muck and filth, and every year I end up back in this office just me and the bottle I keep in my drawer. I used to think this was the life for me: dodging bullets, kicking in doors, and receiving gratitude from the odd damsel-in-distress. Now I’m not so sure. Now that I’ve seen another friend run off with another wife I’m starting to think that maybe I need a new racket cause the free-lance detective business is starting to wear on me like a cheap jacket.



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