"But officer, it wasn't my duck!"

Mack Hammer had heard that one before. He took a long drag on the stale Export 'A', the last one in his last pack. Oh ya, Mack had gone through the fags on this case this week. First it was the dancing bears, then the rogue box of Puffa Puffa Rice, and now the duck.

"It's detective, ma'am, and if you don't stop denying the duck, I'm gonna send you so far up the river you'll be praying for gills before you can say 'Lord love a duck!'"

Hammer stormed out of the dank interrogation room and almost knocked over a long pair of fishnets in Chanel and chintz. Lola. The right kind of dame walking onto the wrong goddamn stage. Hammer's stage. Hammer's nightclub. Hammer's nightmare.

"Hello, Mack. Buy a lady a drink?"

To be continued...
 

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