Btw, no fru-fru drinks for this Fed. Knob Creek with a Guiness back, thank you.
Wanderer, private dick, stormed his way to his desk with his worn shoes leaving angry, wet marks in the carpet. He tossed his soggy trenchcoat over his broken hat stand and wiped rain from his hair. He was still sore over losing his fedora to Agave in their last poker game. That turn of cards had stunk. In fact, this whole city stank.
"A thousand cess pools in a thousand planets, and I had to wash up in this one!" He growled. Wanderer always growled these days. Some said his temper came from being busted out of starfleet. Others said a woman had broken his heart. Wander just said his temper was none of their damn business.
He knew his day was going to get a lot more interesting when the leggy dame with a dress that had seen too much rain stepped into his office. She latched his door as if she were afraid she were being followed. Her ample bossom heaved as she fought to catch her breath. "Help me!" she gasped.
Wanderer knew dames could kill you faster than bullets, so first he loosened the .45 in his belt. But he also pulled the bottle of Knob Creek from his desk drawer. "Well hello, Doll," he said neutrally as he poured two glasses. "What can I do for you?"
"You've got to help me, Detective Wanderer" gasped the woman in a husky voice. "My name is Tracey G. That bastard Dizzy is making a server, and he's trying to make me do something impure with my missions."
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Yeah, that's more like it. I can work with this.
-S'Cipio Spade