The name’s Luger. Ruger Luger. Sometimes i like to say i’m named after my best friend, who’s next to my heart all the time. Just a little down and to my left in fact.

I guess you could say i fell for her as soon as she walked in, the dame that came in that day, looking mighty fine in that tight skirt, fur over her shoulder, that helpless damsel in distress look smeared on her face. I like that look. Maybe that’s why I took her case. Thought maybe we’d hit it off. If I’d have known, well, you’ll see.

So anyway she comes in and my eyebrow kinda perks up, I sit up straight and inside a little whistle goes off. My first thought is to get up and give that tight butt a little tap-tap. But I remind myself I’m a professional. So I smother my cig in with its smoldering brothers, push aside the bottle and glass. And then I give a big smile. “Have a seat,” I say. Light coming in from the blinds puts prison bars across her lightly made up face as she sits down. I take off my hat and set it down over my latest issue of the Police Gazette. I can’t let her see that if I’m going to bag this bird, right? “What can i do fer ya, little lady?” I say.

At this she breaks down. Here come the waterworks, I think and get up to console her. “Hey,” I say, “hey don’t cry.” She jumps up and throws her arms over my shoulders. She buries her face in my neck and I can feel my shirt collar start to soak. I roll my eyes. Maybe this babe’ll be easier to get to throw the hay back in the barn. Then again hay’s all itchy and smelly. Maybe I’ll just stick with my apartment. I grin and rub her back while I wait for her to calm down. When she finally stops pullin the rope to the well of emotion, I sit her down and turn on the fan. It was getting a little too steamy in there.

“You’re a detective, right?” she says. “That’s what my door says.”

“Well i’m here to report someone missing. It’s my fiancee.” My eyebrows shoot up as an alarm sounds in my stomach. Engaged? That’s quite a commitment. Maybe I should keep my fingerprints off this train wreck. She keeps talking, all blubbery and too fast for human comprehension.

“Whoa whoa, slow down, Amtrac! Let’s be cool about this. So, what? Your fiancee? He’s missing?” I light another cig despite the refinement and class of this chick’s presence.

“Yes,” she says. “Evan Scholstic.” I get out my notebook to jot some notes. “how long?”

“It was a few days ago. We went hiking up in the canyon, he loves that. He said he was just going to climb this little cliff and he’d be back. I waited for an hour. He didn’t come, and I went to look for him but couldn’t find him and when I went to the car it was gone too.” She throws back the lever again and the humidity in the place goes up a couple notches. I hate humidity.

I walk to the window and raise the blinds and throw up the window. I shield my eyes from the mid day sun as i take a long drag and add the smoke to the atmosphere. Leaning out I see everyone in the streets. I notice a bum panhandling on the sidewalk below. He’s missing a hand. Doesn’t have a fake one or even one of those hooks. Then something hits me like a .44 slug. I turn back to my broken-hearted beauty and hope she answers my next question right. I calm down, loosen my tie. “Say, what part of the canyon were you in, miss?”

“Wolf Creek. I can show you if you think it’ll help you to find him.”

I close my eyes and sigh. My cig drops from my lips and plunges the 40 odd foot drop to the street. “No ma’am, i don’t think it will.”

“What? Why not?”

I rub the sweat from my forehead as I try to say the words. ” ‘Cause your husband’s already dead.”