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But our favorite Anatolian detective soon finds himself drawn into a murky world of corruption where it's not clear who is pulling the strings. Jenklin soon wishes that it was someone else's problem, but what can you do when a pretty Husky dame needs your help?\n\n[i]This is a little tribute/fan art for the very sexy Jenklin character. The character is NOT mine so I hope they don't mind this. Go look up their art!\n[/i]", "description_bbcode_parsed": "It looked like a simple case: A dead prostitute, probably a trick that went badly. But our favorite Anatolian detective soon finds himself drawn into a murky world of corruption where it's not clear who is pulling the strings. Jenklin soon wishes that it was someone else's problem, but what can you do when a pretty Husky dame needs your help?

This is a little tribute/fan art for the very sexy Jenklin character. The character is NOT mine so I hope they don't mind this. Go look up their art!
", "writing": "Jenklin and the Mayweather Diamond\n\nTheo S Bernard\n\n``Got something for you, Jenklin!''\n\nThe gruff voice barked out of my phone handset. I pictured the grizzled face of the german shepherd at the other end of the line. Grey around the muzzle, eyes which had seen it all: Police Chief Curnow. He must be getting desperate if he was calling me, after that incident involving his wife, me and the back of a squad car. I winced a bit at the memory, but I got a little hot under the collar, too. The chief's wife was quite something.\n\n``Chief! I don't work for you now, since you - you know - suggested I leave.''\n\nMy door says ``D. Jenklin - Private Investigator.'' Former city detective. It was even less glamorous than people thought, but a dog's gotta eat, and good single malt scotch doesn't come cheap.\n\n``Yeah, yeah.'' He sounded distracted. I guess I should be reading something into that. ``But I got a dead hooker here, and it turns out she was from old money. I ain't got time to chase after every rich kid who wants to escape her life of privilege, and learns the hard way how things are. But there's talk of a pretty good reward in it so I figure you might be interested in taking a look.''\n\nSure, Jenklin will do anything for cash. I grimaced into the phone receiver. But a dog's gotta eat, like I said. ``Sure, Chief. Let me see if I can spare some time.''\n\nI stared at the back side of my name in the door glass. My diary was as blank as a modern art painting, but I didn't want to sound eager. I still had some pride left.\n\n``Ok, Give me the details.''\n\n - \n\nThe red brick apartment building clung to the memory of respectability on the fringe of downtown. The scent of cheap booze and cheaper sex threatened to drag it down into the decay which surrounded it, but inside the place was clean and well-maintained. The room was on the third floor, pretty easy to find with one of the Chief's up-and-coming flat-foots outside. Pretty sure the kid used to idolize me, back in the good old days.\n\n``Jenklin!''\n\nMaybe he was even happy to see me. His black-and-tan rottie face wore a deliberate frown, though - he had to show his loyalty to Curnow. A pity, really, because he had a fine young figure under that police uniform. I had a vision of my paws running over that glossy black ass. Had I...? Focus, Jenklin! I scowled the thought away. \n\n``Harry! Good to see you. Chief told you I'd be having a look around?''\n\nThe young dog nodded. ``Knock yourself out, I guess.''\n\nSparse but tasteful decor greeted me inside the apartment, incongruous with the shabby neighborhood outside. It felt sterile, used but not lived-in, like a hotel room. It all served to make the dead woman on the bed seem that much more pathetic.\n\nStrangled, the chief had said. The queen-size bed took up most of the tiny bedroom. A pretty little samoyed lay twisted in the dark satin sheets, the thick white fur hiding the bruises on her neck unless you looked really close. Poor kid, I thought, but just for a moment. Can't be getting sentimental this early in the day.\n\nNo sign of a break in, probably a trick that went wrong, see if the guy left anything behind to identify him, the chief had said. Except under the rumpled sheets she wore pajamas with puppies on them, neat and undisturbed. That hardly seemed like working attire. I went back to the apartment door and squinted at the lock. It was the cheap kind that you could jimmy open with a broken hacksaw blade, and leave certain tell-tale scratches around the catch for a jaded private eye to find so that he knew his day just got more complicated. \n\nSo the killer was a professional, but street-wise, no fancy high-tech lock picks. Motive: was he after something? There was no sign that the room had been searched. I stood in the middle of the apartment and sampled the air, letting my nose look for anything unusual. There's a knack to it. You can't try to smell everything because you'll get overwhelmed; you have to relax and let your subconscious find the thing which is out of place.\n\nI couldn't single out the perpetrator - too many cops had been in the room since. But I did get something - plastic and metal and batteries. I cast an eye around the room and there it was, a hint of shiny black hidden in a pot plant: a small tape recorder. Not placed casually on a table, but deliberately concealed, as if the owner was worried about someone finding it. I slipped it into an evidence bag that went into my pocket; no need to trouble Harry and his pals with extra paperwork.\n\nBack in the office, I poured two fingers of single malt scotch and stared into the golden depths as I tried not to think of the latest unfortunate to be claimed by the city's ugly underbelly. A dog could get callous.\n\nI was pretty sure the only prints on the tape recorder would belong to the dead samoyed, but I used a silk cloth to press the buttons anyway.\n\nMuffled sounds from the tiny speaker. A key in the lock? Door being opened.\n\n``Hi, Teddy!''\n\nA feminine voice, young, a nervous edge. Probably our unfortunate victim.\n\n``Hi, honey.''\n\nThat voice sounded familiar. \n\nSmall talk. The clink of a glass. \n\nAnother knock on the door.\n\n``Shit.'' Teddy's voice. ``Who the hell could that be?''\n\nAnother knock, the kind which demands attention. A muffled voice - outside the door?\n\n``I know you're in there, Teddy.''\n\n``Fuck, how did that prick find me?'' Teddy, muttered. ``Go wait in the other room. I'll deal with this.''\n\nSound of a door closing, footsteps, another door opening.\n\n``What do you want, Franco?''\n\n``What, I can't visit my old pal Teddy? Your door is always open, right?''\n\n``Sure, sure.''\n\nI could feel the tension radiating from the little tape machine. I took a sip of the whiskey, just to be safe. \n\n``But I'm a busy man, Franco, so let's get to the point, huh?''\n\n``Ok then. It's about my... Retainer. I got expenses. I done you and your family a pretty good service, remember.''\n\n``Get outa here. You're paid more than you're worth already.''\n\n``You're a hard man, Teddy. I feel like talking to someone with a more sympathetic ear, you know what I mean? Like maybe the police chief. I'm sure he'd like to know the truth about the diamond.''\n\n``Don't try to blackmail me with that crap. You'd never go to the cops - you're in it as deep as anyone!''\n\n``You want to try me, Teddy? Maybe I don't even care anymore.''\n\n``Look, I'll think about it, see what I can do, OK? In the meantime, clear out. I've got things to do.''\n\n``Ok, Ok''. There was a pause, and I took a pull of the scotch and felt its smokey flavor burning a path down my throat. I imagined ``Franco'' getting up, making his way to the door. Then his voice again, more distant from the mic.\n\n``I know you've been here with that Polly West tramp. You know she's trouble, right?''\n\n``That's none of your goddamn business, pal''.\n\n``Ok, Teddy. Just sayin'.''\n\nSounds of the door opening and closing again. Then, after a while, Polly coming out of the bedroom.\n\n``What was that about?''\n\n``Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, doll. Just business.''\n\nIndistinct sounds for a while, then Teddy again.\n\n``Not tonight, honey. I got a lot on my mind, OK?''\n\nThere was a bit more small-talk, and after a while Teddy announced that he had to go up town for a bit. \n\n``Can I drop you off somewhere?'', he asked.\n\n``It's late. I'll just stay here tonight, I think''. \n\nSounds of Teddy leaving, then the television. I crossed my paws, hoping and also dreading that the little tape captured the killer. But a dog can't always get lucky; the TV droned on and then the recording ran out, shortly after my drink.\n\nMy mind sometimes comes up with the an answer after it's been lubricated with a drop of Old Finest single malt. I suddenly remembered the voice of Teddy.\n\nTeddy Liano. Mafioso. \n\nMarried to Julia Mayweather, heiress to the Mayweather family fortune. So it seemed like young Polly had got herself mixed up in something big, and now she was dragging me into it as well. Something told me that no good would come of it. No good at all. Here we go again, Jenklin...\n\n - \n\nI had a dead girl, a powerful family, a thug called ``Franco'', and something about a diamond. Together, it added up to a big hill of trouble. I ought to walk away, real quick, and stick to finding wayward husbands. And maybe I would have, too, but something about that poor young samoyed (now on her way to the morgue) just tugged at me like a puppy that's got hold of your trouser hem. Annoying, but you can't just kick them away. She deserved better, and finding out the truth was the least I could do for her. And don't forget about the possibly of a reward, Jenk, or they'll think you've gone soft.\n\nI leaned back in my chair and wondered what to do next. My reflection stared back from the window glass: a tall dog with soft fur, white apart from a dark patch over one eye. A strong muzzle. A lean physique built for guarding sheep in the steppes of Central Asia. The simple life, freedom, the sun on your fur and all that. Sure, a dog can dream. I'd probably be bored to death.\n\nFortunately a knock on my door brought an end to that sort of thinking. I had a job to do, after all, although I might still have walked away if she hadn't knocked on my door at that moment. \n\nI called ``Come in'', one paw habitually on the gun that I keep strapped under the desk when I'm in the office. The door opened to reveal a dame. \n\nHusky. Young, maybe mid 20s. Fur immaculate white blending to a striking gray at the tips. An expensive outfit, well kept but showing signs of wear. Her piercing blue eyes took in me and the office at a glance. I thought about how dusty the place was and how I hadn't put on a clean shirt. It was like her bright fur had lit up the room, and now you could see all the dirt.\n\n``Mr Jenklin?'' Her uptown accent, along with the faded suit, added to the impression of old money that had fallen on hard times.\n\nI stood, proffered a paw to shake hers. ``That would be me.'' I should prepare some witty lines for these situations. ``Private detective, available for your assistance.'' If she was here about a wayward husband, then he was a damn fool and certainly didn't deserve her. As if you'd have any chance with a lady like that, I thought. Keep it professional, Jenk.\n\n``Have a seat.'' I gestured towards the padded chair facing the desk, hoping desperately that it was free from cobwebs. ``Tell me what's up, and I'll see if I can help.''\n\n``Thank you, Mr Jenklin.'' \n\nThe way she sat down in my creaky old chair somehow suggested style and good education. Class act, I thought. But there was a tiny shake to her paw, and it gripped her leather carry-bag just a bit too tight. \n\n``My name is Sylvia Brighton. I'm afraid I've got involved in something, and I'm in over my head.'' I caught a shakiness in her voice, too. She was upset, but hiding it well.\n\n``Tell me about it,'' I encouraged. Anatolians are good listeners, although it's not what we're best known for.\n\n``I'm a photographer, Mr Jenklin. Freelance, everything from weddings to crime reporting. I'm pretty good, although the work isn't always regular.'' \n\nThat sounded familiar.\n\n``A week ago, I was contacted by a client with plenty of money and suspicions about her husband. She would pay well for photographic evidence of an affair. A sordid sort of job, and I'm ashamed to say it's not the first time. But one has to keep the lights on, after all.''\n\nI nodded a heartfelt agreement to that.\n\n``Yesterday, after a little detective work, I managed to get suitable pictures of the dog in question, visiting his secret apartment with a young lady. All quite predictable, of course.''\n\nShe leaned forward.\n\n``But I was shocked to discover that the young lady in question was my... '' She hesitated for a moment, and I got that feeling of suppressed emotions again. She took a breath, then continued.\n\n``She was my friend and also my boarder. I was surprised, as you can imagine. But still, you're thinking, surely this was just a strange coincidence. I thought the same. But last night... She was murdered.''\n\nI got that sinking feeling you get when things start looking even more complicated.\n\n``Your friend... Was her name Polly West?''\n\nThe lady gave a little start when I mentioned the name of the dead samoyed. My sinking feeling accelerated downward like a burning plane with a dead pilot slumped over the controls.\n\n``You've heard... about her, then, Mr Jenklin?''\n\nI nodded.\n\n``Unfortunately yes.'' I almost mentioned police chief Curnow, but thought better of it. I'd like to say it was because I'm smart and perceptive, but really, I just didn't want to sound like the Chef's lapdog. It was fortunate that I kept quiet, though.\n\n``There's more to this, too,'' Sylvia continued. ``Polly is - was - a freelance reporter, and she was working on a story. Something big. Political. She said...'' \n\nThe Husky shuddered. She had to stop for a moment and compose herself.\n\n``She said she didn't know who to trust. Not even... The police. That's why I came to see you. I was thinking... Perhaps you can at least help me figure out what she was involved in.''\n\nWell, I really hoped I was worthy of her faith. But she was also a huge boon to the case, and clues that good (or good-looking) don't usually just walk in and knock on my door. Maybe the patron saint of drunks and private investigators was watching over me for once.\n\n``I can certainly give it my best shot, Ma'am.'' I said.\n\nShe visibly relaxed at that, and forget the money, just the sight of that beautiful lady looking a bit happier was almost enough for me. Almost enough, because there's still rent to pay. OK, so maybe I have a thing for those blue Husky eyes and upright ears. It's not a crime. \n\nFocus, Jenklin.\n\nSylvia had been rummaging in her bag. She pulled out a brown paper envelope and dropped it on my desk. ``The photos,'' she said.\n\nI slid them out and flicked on the desk lamp. She really was good at her job. The pictures were excellent - clear focus, good lighting, perfect exposure. A stocky dog in a distinctive pin-stripe suit and bowler hat. Well-cut, just a bit flamboyant. Back to the camera. Another shot, this time bending down to kiss a samoyed on the cheek: Polly West. The couple going in to a familiar building, Polly smiling. It looked like true love. A shot taken through the apartment window, a passionate kiss but too indistinct to be useful. The dog exiting the building, alone, this time with his face to the camera. A very recognizable doberman: Teddy Liano.\n\n``This was your target?'' I asked, holding up the picture of Teddy. Sylvia nodded.\n\n``And what about this one?'' I held up the last picture. It showed another dog, a shorter terrier in a cheap suit, with a surly expression and a scar across one side of his face.\n\n``Oh, they are out of order. He came out a bit earlier. I don't really know why I photographed him, except that he looked out-of-place somehow.''\n\nI had a strong hunch that I was looking at the mysterious Frankie, prime suspect. I still didn't have much to go on. But as I held the envelope, one more photo dropped out. It showed our friend Frankie again, this time getting into a cab. In the corner of the photo, I could easily read the registration plate on the taxi: 317-CTS.\n\nThe parton saint of gumshoes was definitely smiling on me today.\n\nHe was in the office when I called the cab company, and I had to smile at his enthusiasm when he heard it was me on the phone. I could imagine him bouncing from one foot to the other when I said I needed his help with a case. \n\n317-CTS: ``Corgi Taxi Service''. It was our little joke, Charlie the Corgi Cabby and me. Well, probably me and everyone else who had ever hailed Charlie's cab and noticed the plate. He was the nicest little dog you could hope to meet in this dog-eat-dog town, and he always looked delighted when I made the joke. Maybe it was because he had a massive crush on me. He was a cute kind of fella in his own way, and I always thought, maybe... But then I never did. Anyway, I'm sure he had a wife and kids. Who are you kidding, Jenklin. Like that ever stopped you...\n\n``Sure, I'll be right over!''\n\nI brewed coffee while we waited, and the familiar yellow cab had screeched to a halt outside the building before the black liquid had even finished trickling into the pot. I'm sure he must have broken every traffic law to get there so fast. I always felt a bit guilty for leading him on. I introduced him to Sylvia, and if he felt jealous when he found an attractive husky lady in my office, he didn't show it.\n\nWith the coffee poured, I showed him the photos. Scar-face Frankie outside the apartment; Frankie getting in to Charlie's cab. \n\n``Oh yeah!'' Charlie nodded enthusiastically. ``I remember that guy. Seemed kind of mean. Didn't know anything about the Barkers.'' \n\nTo be fair, I don't know anything about the Barkers either - not even what sport is involved - but Charlie didn't seem to hold it against me.\n\n``You remember where you took him?''\n\n``Sure, I think so. A warehouse down by the docks''.\n\nThe corgi's big ears were swiveled forward and I could hear his tail wagging against the chair back. This sounded like real detective work, and he was very excited. ``Hey, I could take you there now, if you want.''\n\nStrike while the iron is hot, as they say. I nodded. ``Sylvia, you're welcome to wait here if you like,'' I suggested as I eased the gun out of its little slot under the desk and slipped it into my shoulder holster. I figured she wouldn't want to risk her pretty white fur down in the greasy parts of town. I figured wrong. She shot me an angry glare just for suggesting it. \n\n``I'm coming along too'', she said. I didn't feel like arguing, especially since I'd be billing her for the expenses. So we all clattered down the stairs and piled in to Charlie's cab. He gunned the engine, and I noticed he was grinning like a kid as we pulled away with a squeal from the tires.\n\n``Do you get many tickets?'' I asked as we lurched onto 5th Avenue. \n\n``Oh no, they never pull over a cab. Might be some rich big-wig in a hurry! Great way for a cop to get a demotion.''\n\n``Is that right! Well, no hurry.''\n\nI got the excited Corgi to stop a block away from the address, and wait for us there. I opened my mouth to tell Sylvia to wait in the car as well, but she shot me another look before I could say anything. \n\nThe dingy warehouse building had seen better days, and then worse days, and then been forgotten. The huge main doors hadn't opened in years, but there was a small side door which showed signs of regular use.\n\n``You'd better wait here,'' I whispered to Sylvia, ``At least until I have a look around. And keep watch on the road - I don't want any surprises.''\n\nShe nodded, and her fur caught the late afternoon sun. It would have made a great photo shoot, I thought, that beautiful white and gray fur and her intense blue eyes, against the sweeping backdrop of rusty iron wall. I shook off those thoughts real quick. There was a job to be done. \n\nIf I was still a cop, I'd have to knock, or get a warrant. But I wasn't a cop anymore, and subterfuge seemed smart under the circumstances. The big old lock was easy enough to pick when you knew how. Gun in hand, I eased the door open and peered inside.\n\nDarkness. I crouched, hopefully out of sight, and let my eyes adjust. My nose told me a lot, too - scents of rusty iron and old oil mostly, but also the musk of a canine who passed through here often. Recently, too, but I couldn't tell if he was in or not. \n\nI could make out the tangled shapes of ancient machinery to either side, draped in pipes and cables like jungle vines. Ahead, a staircase led up to a mezzanine floor where light spilled from an open door. The scent of our resident canine seemed stronger in that direction. I moved towards the foot of the stairs, keeping a close eye on that door. The door which was suspiciously half-open to attract my attention... Too late, I realized my mistake. I saw the shape just as it lurched out of the shadows to my right. I swung up my arm to fend off the swinging baseball bat, and my ears rang as it glanced painfully off my head and shoulder. My gun clattered and spun away into the shadows under the hulking machinery. \n\nI had some training when I was with the force, although that was a few years and a few bottles of Scotland's Finest in the past. I let myself turn with the momentum of the blow and brought up my left fist, and it connected with my opponent's jaw in that way which is jarring but you know hurt the other guy more. He staggered back and I followed up with a right jab to his solar plexus - nothing fancy, just old-fashioned slugging. He caught a heel on something and crashed backwards against the side of a huge steel vat, right into a pool of light from an overhead skylight. \n\nIn an instant of frozen time, I saw the familiar scar across his face and knew it was our man Frankie. My mind tracked the future trajectory of the baseball bat, plenty of time to see that it was going to swing at me again, but no time to get out of the way. But then the whole building reverberated with the sound of two quick gun shots, and the bat dropped to the floor. Frankie slumped back against the metal behind him, and I dived into the shadows as I tried to figure out where the shots had come from. High up, to one side of the mezzanine... I risked a glance and saw a figure on a catwalk, silhouetted against a high window, gun raised and pointed right at me.\n\nI was still trying to decide whether to roll away or hold still when a roaring sound came out of the gloom overhead, and a length of heavy chain swung down and smashed into the silhouette. The gun barked and a bullet ricocheted off metal somewhere above my head as the shooter was knocked to one side. He scrambled back from the swinging chain and vanished out the window, presumably to a fire escape at the back of the building. As I tried to grasp the sequence of events, I saw a flash of bright white fur up on the catwalk.\n\nThe sudden silence was broken by coughing and wheezing sounds. Frankie lay propped against the machinery, blood spreading from the hole in his chest. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the catwalk and my nose caught Sylvia's scent. Guess I was lucky she didn't stay outside. ``Sylvia, run out to Charlie, and tell him to get on his radio and get a meat-wagon down here.''\n\nI knelt down beside the dying dog as I reminded myself that he'd strangled a young samoyed just yesterday, so no need to waste too many tears on him. But I needed information. ``Frankie!'' I said, giving his shoulder a little shake, maybe to convince him not to go towards the light just yet. ``Frankie, what's going on? What's all this about the Mayweathers and a diamond?''\n\nHis fading eyes swiveled towards me as he coughed up some blood. There was a strange sort of grin on his muzzle. \n\n``S... Stupid gumshoe.'' His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. ``You think the... the diamond... is a jewel?'' He shuddered in a sort of cough-laugh, then stared into the distance, almost like he'd forgotten I was there. \n\n``I blew `em to hell,'' he croaked. ``Ya shoulda seen it. It was beautiful. All those... Rich fucks. Politicians. Blew `em right to hell. The diamond....''\n\nHis head slumped forward, and I knew I wouldn't be getting anything else from him. I felt around in the gloom until I found my gun. \n\n - \n\nI blew `em to hell.\n\nBut what was he talking about and what did it all have to do with the Mayweathers and a diamond which wasn't a jewel?\n\nThe open door beckoned me up the stairs. I kept my gun out, but I figured I'd had my double surprise for the day. I was right; the office on the mezzanine was empty apart from the stacks of stale take-out containers and dusty porn mags. There was a television, and a bed, and a little bathroom through a door. There might have been a kitchen bench somewhere under the pile of dirty dishes and empty bourbon bottles. Everything was as filthy as a two-bit gangster's bachelor pad. It made me feel a bit better - at least I'd cleaned my apartment some time in the last year.\n\nI was about to leave, since the place seemed about as interesting as the minutes from a meeting of the refrigerator salesman's guild. But then I spotted a faded newspaper clipping pinned to the shabby wallpaper. \n\nMAYORAL CANDIDATE KILLED IN GAS EXPLOSION\n\nThe photo showed a debris-strewn sidewalk in front of a blackened hole, gaping like a toothless skull, which had once been a hotel foyer. That jogged my memory. It had been a couple of years ago, back when I was still on the force. A gas explosion had killed a number of people at a hotel restaurant. Thirteen, according to the article. \n\nI blew `em to hell. \n\nI peered at the facade of the building in the photograph. Sure enough, there it was, in charred brass letters above the ruins: Diamond Hotel.\n\nSo maybe the explosion wasn't an accident after all. But how did the Mayweathers fit into the picture? Or Polly West? I needed more.\n\n - \n\nI found Sylvia outside. ``Ambulance and the city's finest are on the way,'' she said. I nodded.\n\n``So much for waiting outside,'' I said. Death had made me terse.\n\n``Well, you're lucky I didn't. You're welcome, by the way.''\n\n``OK, thanks. But just try not to get yourself killed, alright?''\n\nThe recent violence hadn't cooled Charlie's enthusiasm, and his ears pivoted forward as we piled back into his cab.\n\n``Let's go!'' I said, ``Before the chief and his boys arrive and we get stuck here for three hours explaining what went down.'' \n\nI could hear sirens in the distance as Charlie gunned the engine and we lurched out and away from the crummy warehouse and the dead thug.\n\nI blew `em to hell.\n\nIt was time for some dull research, and after being hit with a bat and shot at, I was ready for it. I had Charlie drop us off at the library, then sent him home. He was visibly disappointed.\n\nWith Sylvia's help, we soon amassed a collection of articles about the Diamond Hotel disaster. The more I found, the less I liked it. One article had a list of the victims, and there we found the names Marie and Joseph West: Polly's parents. So that explained her interest. We also found some articles about the big new downtown development, with its swanky mall and luxury offices. The Mayweathers had done very well out of that one, and - surprise - the deceased mayoral candidate had been campaigning to cancel the project (something about kick-backs, dubious re-zoning, and preserving the character of the city). So there it was, wrapped up with a bow: A thug blackmails a crime boss after an assassination which enabled a corrupt property deal.\n\n``You have to take this to the police!'' Sylvia said as we surveyed the pile of newspaper clippings we'd copied. I nodded; together they sketched out a sordid tale. I'd done my bit; now it was time for the law to get involved.\n\n``I'll go see the police chief in the morning,'' I said. ``Can I walk you to your apartment?''\n\n``Mr Jenklin...'' Her usual confidence slipped a bit. ``I don't feel comfortable there right now. Would I perhaps... Be able to stay with you tonight? I don't want to be a nuisance; just a spot on your couch would be fine.''\n\nA gorgeous husky lady wanted to stay in my apartment because she didn't feel safe. I needed that kind of trouble about as much as I needed a baseball bat to the head.\n\n``Sure'', I said, ``No problem at all.'' I'm pretty sure I stopped my tail before it wagged. Don't even think it, Jenklin, you ass. But I knew I'd think it.\n\n - \n\nThe Jenklin den was conveniently upstairs from my office and equally dusty. We had Chinese takeout and cheap red wine while I organized my pile of notes and articles, ready to show to Chief Curnow. Sylvia watched me while I re-read various pages and rehearsed my pitch.\n\nI tossed the papers aside and tried to hide a yawn which threatened to ruin my tough street-wise image. But I think Sylvia had already seen right through me, and I didn't even care. It felt warm and comfortable there on my dusty couch with the husky, so I refilled our glasses with the wine, which was starting to taste pretty good after all.\n\nSometimes I pretend to be a Good Dog. Maybe it's my guardian dog ancestry - generations of protecting remote villages where everyone knew their place and knew how to behave - at least, that's how my old mother described it. So I showed Sylvia to my bedroom, and grabbed a blanket and a cushion for myself. The couch wasn't so bad; I'd fallen asleep there many times.\n\nI stripped off my crumpled clothes and stretched out naked under the blanket. Wearing pants to bed always made me feel overdressed, like a tuxedo at a beach party. Anatolians were made for cooler climates. Jenklin dog is kind of fluffy, apart from my lower belly and sheath. It's a pretty nice sheath too, I sometimes think, when I'm not distracted by some new crime in this stinking town.\n\nMy paw was just idly moving over the soft but full shape which hid my package - just out of unconscious habit, you understand - when a tall husky silhouette with graceful pointed ears appeared in the doorway.\n\n``I was just thinking....'' I couldn't see her face, but her voice sounded silky in the dark. ``It's a bit chilly, and... Well, you needn't sleep on that old couch if you don't want to. I feel bad forcing you out of your own bed.'' She started to turn away, then stopped. ``There's plenty of room...''\n\nAs if her meaning wasn't completely clear. As for the temperature... Well that was true enough, since the heating was inadequate even when it worked. But of course a husky would be less bothered by the cold than me.\n\nI should have stayed on the couch. That was the correct and proper thing to do. But correct and proper isn't the Jenklin way. You're just giving some emotional support to a lady who's had a difficult time, I told myself. Nothing improper. Maybe I even believed myself, just a bit. So I abandoned the couch and the blanket, and tip-toed towards my bed where a husky waited.\n\nThe bedside lamp was on, giving a warm orange glow to the room. There she was, propped up on one elbow, black satin pajamas oozing over her white fur. Her striking blue eyes scanned my body, and I remembered that I was still naked. I'm naturally tall and lean, tending towards lanky, and I try to keep in good shape. Her gaze rested for a moment on my naked pink sheath, then danced away, like the dollar bill that slipped out of your hand and got caught by the wind. I saw a smile on her muzzle, the kind of look that leads you into that alleyway of delights that you know you don't deserve, but there you are already. And I was there already, easing under the covers next to her.\n\n``How are you feeling?'' I murmured. Inside, I was thinking that wasn't a very Jenklin thing to say, hardly the tough private eye, the dog of few words. But a part of me was still pretending that I was just there for comfort and support, nothing more.\n\n``Shhh...'' She whispered, leaning over to kiss my muzzle, and that part of me vanished faster the pay from last week's job. \n\nSweet husky tongue entwined with mine. My paws found the soft fur of her midriff as I slid them under the satin. I was lost in the smell of her as her muzzle licked eagerly at mine. Some time later, I was aware that the pajamas had come off, and there was hot fur pressed against me. I broke away, and lowered my nose, burying it in her chest fur, filling myself with the smell of her, and then down, and her body stiffened as my tongue found the soft folds of her cookie.\n\nYou're an idiot, Jenklin, I thought as I felt my cock swelling in my sheath. Sure, I've got a thing for pretty huskies; its the worst-kept secret in town. But this was hardly the time. Any dog with a shred of decency wouldn't take advantage of a vulnerable lady. Only, it didn't seem like I was the one taking advantage when she pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me, especially as she pressed her sweet hot entrance against my sheath, and my weapon slid deep inside her. At that point, I realized it had been a while, and I'd been missing sweet feminine distraction... A lot.\n\nLater, as we lay in a dreamy tie, I felt something stirring in me, a part of me I thought was long dead.\n\nCareful, Jenklin. Don't be getting sentimental...\n\n - \n\nWaking up beside a sweet husky was a particular pleasure that was far too rare in my life, like finding a decent burger in this town, or being up-to-date on the rent. It took a while to get motivated and get out of bed.\n\nShe looked radiant in the morning light, like Venus With Coffee (not that I know anything about classical art, but it sounded grand). \n\n``I'm going to see the police chief this morning,'' I said. ``You'd better wait here. The chief and I... We have some history.''\n\n``Ok'', she nodded. I was a little surprised that she agreed without argument, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. My real fear, should I arrive in the chief's office with a lady in tow, was that he'd bring up the topic of his wife.\n\nPolice Chief Curnow agreed to see me, then kept me waiting for forty-five minutes. The coffee at the station hadn't got any better. I don't know how you make coffee taste like burned car tires; maybe it's special police issue beans.\n\n``Jenklin!'' The chief?s gruff voice greeted me when I was finally ushered into his office. He wasn't exactly wagging with enthusiasm, but anything above a growl was generally considered positive with the surly German Shepherd. ``I hope you're here with some news on that dead hooker case.''\n\n``News, sure, Chief'', I said, although I didn't work for him or the police anymore. ``She got herself mixed up in quite a sordid mess.''\n\nThe old Shepherd rolled his eyes at this, as if he expected me to waste his time with a story about a coke deal gone bad or some other gutter vice. But as I laid out the connections between poor Polly, the hotel explosion, and the Mayweather family, I saw his expression darken. \n\n``That's enough, Jenklin'', he growled before I'd even finished. ``You can't come in here making unfounded accusations about one of our city's finest families.''\n\nI think I was gaping at him like a fish on his first trip to a raunchy fish strip-club. ``But it's all here, Chief! Clear evidence that the hotel explosion was an assassination! You gotta reopen the case!''\n\n``Entirely circumstantial,'' he muttered. ``You don't have anything which would stand up in court.'' But I noticed that he wouldn't meet my gaze.\n\nSo there it is, I thought. Even Police Chief Curnow wasn't going to stand up to them. There was nothing more to do except gather what was left of my pride and try for a dignified exit.\n\n - \n\nWhen I got back to the office, it was emptier than my bank account. So she?s gone to get some breakfast without you, I thought. I don?t know why I would feel disappointed about it, what with us being strictly professional and everything. Then I noticed the note on my desk.\n\nGone out to attend to some business. Back by lunch time.\n\nShe?d been employed to take photos, so I?d bet good whiskey that she meant to deliver the pictures and collect her payment. What can I say; I?m a detective. It?s my job to make educated guesses and pretend I?m being clever. \n\nThat meant she was going to meet Julia Mayweather, and I felt cold prickles of apprehension about all the ways that might be a bad idea. Sylvia was my client right now and there wouldn?t be any juicy expense claims if something bad happened to her. Sure, Jenklin. That?s the only reason you?re checking your gun is safely concealed in its holster before you hurry out the door and down the stairs.\n\nI grabbed a cab which happened to be waiting right outside the building. It wasn?t Charlie the Corgi, but the perky little terrier still cut through the morning traffic like a politician trying to get to a free buffet. We veered to a stop around the corner from the building and I stepped out, trying to look like Joe Cool despite the little voice which urged me to hurry. I scanned the street with a casual eye, but saw nobody I recognized. That didn?t mean it wasn?t a trap, just that I couldn?t see it.\n\nThe nondescript gray stone building housed an office on the third floor which belonged to the Mayweathers and was used - officially - for file storage. Julia Mayweather also used it for clandestine meetings. How did I know about it? No comment. I loitered in the tobacconist across the street. Hopefully it looked like I was checking the Gentleman?s Entertainment magazines while I secretly checked the street and the building entrance. Nobody else seemed to be watching the place. Or maybe they were just better at it than me.\n\nBut then I got lucky. A big car with darkened windows pulled up outside, and a well-dressed lady stepped out. Tall, thin, and with the regal features of a Great Dane, she was the kind of dame who?d turn heads in any room, although anyone with any sense would know better than to stare, especially ordinary gumshoes like me. I don?t buy any of that breedist crap about how certain types of people are destined for certain roles in life, but if you were going to imagine the lady in charge of a powerful crime family, you?d probably picture a Dane just like her. Julia Mayweather.\n\nI peeked past a magazine as she strode up the stairs and into the lobby. As the door swung shut, I saw a familiar husky figure step forward to greet her: Sylvia. My hunch had been correct. \n\nI loitered for a couple of minutes longer, just to make sure they hadn?t spotted me. I wasn?t even quite sure what I was going to do. I had a bad feeling that something was going down but I didn?t know what it was or how to stop it. Typical Jenk. All it takes is a pretty lady and you lose your cool.\n\nSomething caught my eye at a cafe table just along the street. A subtle movement of a newspaper at just the right moment showed that someone behind it was also watching Julia. I only caught a glimpse, but I recognized the scowling face of Teddy Liano. So now I knew something really was going down, and it smelled worse than a dead rat under the refrigerator.\n\nA couple of things were clear. Teddy had been waiting for his wife while staying out of sight, and he wasn?t in a good mood. And, like me, he was waiting for Julia and Sylvia to get in the elevator so he wouldn?t be seen. I was liking this less and less. However, I definitely owed a bottle of the good scotch to the patron saint of drunks and gumshoes: If I?d moved too soon, I?d have had Teddy on my tail. Instead, it was the other way around.\n\nTeddy folded the newspaper casually and dropped some change on the table, all carefree-joe-heading-for-the-office. At least, that?s how I imagined the scene since I wasn?t gawping, just sneaking quick glances. I like to think there?s a knack to it, and I haven?t been spotted yet. That I know of. I did get a clear view as Teddy got up and strolled across the street to our favorite office block. The place sure was popular today.\n\nOnce he was inside the lobby, I risked putting down my magazine and heading across myself. The gun-shaped bulge under Teddy's jacket was adding to the clawing tension in my guts. Come on, Jenklin. Time to show your mettle.\n\nThe lobby was out because I didn?t know how long Teddy would need to wait for the elevator and I couldn?t risk being spotted. I ducked down an alley which led to the back of the building, and did a pretty decent gymnast impression as I jumped up and grabbed the fire escape ladder. With a bit of grunting and some grazed knuckles I made it to the landing. It?s just lucky I?m tall.\n\nA fire-escape door led to the stairwell. Of course, it was locked from the inside with a deadbolt, but I happened to know that it was one of those locks - the kind you can open by jamming a regular key into the gap and then jiggling the door just the right way. Don?t ask how I knew about it. Let?s just say that I?ve got an eye for those kind of details when I think it might be useful.\n\nMy luck held and the door opened easily. The office was on the second floor, so I padded up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could. Despite the concerning situation, I was kinda enjoying myself. Just a bit. Action sure beats sitting around the office, at least until the action involves me getting beaten.\n\nI peered through a glass pane in the stairwell door. It was the kind of drab brown-carpet hallway which could have been anywhere until the lift opened and Teddy stepped out, still scowling. I could just see the door further down the corridor with the discreet \"Eastside Property Holdings Ltd\" sign.\n\nDid Teddy?s hand move towards the gun concealed inside his jacket as he exited the lift and turned down the hall? I couldn?t really see, and I had to be sure. I mean, maybe he had flowers or chocolates for his wife. I saw his other hand leave his pocket, holding a key. He slid it into the lock and turned it slowly. Not in the way a good husband would if he was bringing flowers.\n\nI waited until he eased the door open and took a step inside before I moved. I slipped through the stairwell door and stole down the beige carpet to the office. Teddy had closed the door behind him, but I could hear raised voices from the other side.\n\n\"You forget yourself, Theodore.\" A cultured feminine voice. Julia Mayweather. \"My father built this business. You were nothing more than a common street hustler when he found you, and you?ll end up back there if you?re not careful.''\n\n\"You fucking stuck-up bitch!\"\n\nI?d already decided things were getting out of hand, and Teddy?s outburst covered the sound of me opening the door, even as my other hand pulled out my own gun.\n\nThe door opened into an office. I got the impression of stacks of cardboard cartons and shelves loaded with files, and a wooden desk, large but plain. Time had slowed to a crawl, like a Monday morning with no clients. Julia sat behind the desk, looking sharp as ever in an outfit of autumn tones which complimented her tan fur. Sylvia sat to one side, like she?d just been talking to Julia. Teddy was between me and the desk, and the gun was in his hand. I could see the glint of light on the sleek metal as it swung towards Julia.\n\nI acted on instinct before I had time to think. The sound of the shot reverberated around the room, shattering the momentary stillness. Teddy folded like a marionette with its strings cut. I kicked his gun away then checked for a pulse, but I already knew he wouldn?t be causing trouble for anyone anymore. I?m a pretty good shot when I need to be.\n\n\"Ah, Jenklin, darling.\" Julia leaned back in her chair, like she?d been enjoying a gin and tonic by the pool and not being threatened with a gun by her now-deceased husband in a homicidal rage. \"I was starting to worry that you wouldn?t show up!\"\n\nI think my jaw must have dropped open for a moment before I controlled it.\n\n\"I?m predictable, obviously. Lucky for you.\" \n\n\"Well, let?s say I had reason to believe that I might need your... specialist assistance. I had one of my dogs watching you so I knew you were on your way. I don?t like leaving such crucial matters to luck, you know.\"\n\nThe whole gig was getting more confusing than a game of charades in a hall of mirrors, so I put away my gun and tried to put together what I knew. On a hunch, I rifled through dead Teddy?s pockets, and struck the jackpot in a piece of crumpled yellow notepaper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a grimace from Julia as I smoothed it out. Her uncharacteristic show of surprise told me a bunch. She?d seen this note before, and she didn?t want me to know about it.\n\nSylvia,\n\nPlease meet me at Eastside Holdings office at 11 to discuss photos re: Teddy and payment of your fee.\n\n-Julia\n\nI must have scowled at Julia as some pieces of this puzzle fell into place. Her face showed a look of resignation, but it was the kind of resignation of someone who knows they have won anyway, even though you?ve found out their secret.\n\n\"So,\" I growled, tossing the note on the desk for dramatic effect. \"Teddy knew you?d hired someone to get pictures, and that?s why he was pissed off. And he knew about it because you left a note somewhere that you knew he?d find it. Because you always have everything planned, and you wouldn?t be so sloppy by accident.\"\n\nJulia rolled her eyes. \"I might just have let him find it, yes. Typical of that idiot to bring it with him and give the game away.\"\n\nShe looked down at her former husband, now gone to whatever hell awaits gangsters who are not especially smart. She actually smiled a little. \"Still\", she said, \"I won?t have to put up with his idiotic posturing any more, not to mention his indiscreet affairs with pretty young ladies. So it?s worked out well.\"\n\n\"So this whole thing was a set-up from the start.\" My voice remained low and steady. Inside, I was madder than a swarm of bees in a tin. \"You used me to get rid of Teddy because he was a threat to your control of the family business!\" Somehow, the gun was back in my paw and pointed right at her. Just to rub salt in my wounds, she didn?t even look worried.\n\n\"Calm down now, Jenklin darling. We both know you?re not going to use that on me.\"\n\nMemories of her fine Great Dane form, naked in the firelight. Those beautiful statuesque curves. Her thin fur pressed against me. It was a long time ago, but she was right. I wasn?t going to shoot her. I?d been played from the start, Jenklin the idiot gumshoe, always a sucker when it came to the dames. I put the gun away.\n\n\"That?s better,\" she said. \"If it?s any consolation, I only planned to get some incriminating photos as grounds for divorce. That would have been dangerous, of course, but I didn't have much choice. But when you got involved... Well, it seemed like a golden opportunity. You really are very good, you know, despite being quite predictable.\"\n\nIt was a compliment of a sort, I suppose, like being told you?re comfortable to sit on.\n\n\"And what about the Diamond?\"\n\nJulia?s face darkened at that. Perhaps there was even a hint of remorse.\n\n\"That was entirely Teddy?s operation - I swear I knew nothing about it. A despicable business.\"\n\n\"And yet you seem to have done pretty well out of it.\"\n\n\"Well, it couldn?t be undone after the fact, and I wasn?t going to turn down a good opportunity, was I?\". \n\nShe had the confidence of money and power behind her, and she knew there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.\n\n\"And now, I?ve managed to clean up the whole thing for you. No more blackmail. No more loose ends.\" I couldn?t keep the bitterness out of my voice.\n\n\"Now now, darling. Don?t be too harsh on yourself. You?ve been very useful to me, and you?ll find that my gratitude might include certain benefits.\"\n\n\"Thanks, but maybe some benefits I can live without. Meanwhile, now I have to deal with the police chief and try to explain this little mess.\" I nodded towards the late Teddy.\n\n\"Don?t worry, I?ll vouch for you. It was obviously self-defense. There won?t be any problems for you.\"\n\nShe was right, of course. But I?d still have to stick around and give a statement, which was a pain in the ass because I really needed a drink.\n\n - \n\nThe brown suitcase sat alone on the sidewalk like a traveling salesman in a bar on a Tuesday night. I stared at it while I waited. Pretty soon Sylvia came back from the restroom, looking impeccable as ever. My heart did a little dance when I saw her, but I told it to shut up.\n\n\"Maybe I should stay...\" She said. That sentence might have ruined my resolve, except that I was expecting it. My cousin ran a small-town paper up north, and they needed a photographer. It would be a much better gig than what she had going now.\n\n\"You know you gotta get out of town, at least for a while. You?re too involved in... everything.\" She knew too much, of course. Julia Mayweather had seemed relaxed about it all, but I didn?t trust her. \n\n\"But what about you?\"\n\n\"Don?t worry about me. I can look after myself.\" And of course, Julia wouldn?t do anything to me. I was useful. I was under her thumb. But no need to say that out loud.\n\n\"I know,\" she said, \"And I really am looking forward to this job.''\n\nShe kissed me on the cheek then, and my resolve almost broke again. Almost. Then she turned to the waiting bus and put a foot on the stairs. \n\n\"I?ll come back someday when it?s safe,\" she said, looking back from the door. \"You?ll let me know, won?t you?\"\n\n\"Sure\", I said. \"Take care, Sylvia.''\n\nShe smiled and gave a final wave as she disappeared inside. I waited while the engine started, just to make sure she didn?t change her mind. I waved as the gears crunched and the bus pulled slowly away.\n\nI turned back to the city, with its red brick buildings, it?s traffic burble and constant background smell of people and garbage and takeout food. \n\nI could take a break, I thought, and go visit her. \n\nSure, Jenklin. Like she needs that kind of trouble...\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Jenklin and the Mayweather Diamond

Theo S Bernard

``Got something for you, Jenklin!''

The gruff voice barked out of my phone handset. I pictured the grizzled face of the german shepherd at the other end of the line. Grey around the muzzle, eyes which had seen it all: Police Chief Curnow. He must be getting desperate if he was calling me, after that incident involving his wife, me and the back of a squad car. I winced a bit at the memory, but I got a little hot under the collar, too. The chief's wife was quite something.

``Chief! I don't work for you now, since you - you know - suggested I leave.''

My door says ``D. Jenklin - Private Investigator.'' Former city detective. It was even less glamorous than people thought, but a dog's gotta eat, and good single malt scotch doesn't come cheap.

``Yeah, yeah.'' He sounded distracted. I guess I should be reading something into that. ``But I got a dead hooker here, and it turns out she was from old money. I ain't got time to chase after every rich kid who wants to escape her life of privilege, and learns the hard way how things are. But there's talk of a pretty good reward in it so I figure you might be interested in taking a look.''

Sure, Jenklin will do anything for cash. I grimaced into the phone receiver. But a dog's gotta eat, like I said. ``Sure, Chief. Let me see if I can spare some time.''

I stared at the back side of my name in the door glass. My diary was as blank as a modern art painting, but I didn't want to sound eager. I still had some pride left.

``Ok, Give me the details.''

 -

The red brick apartment building clung to the memory of respectability on the fringe of downtown. The scent of cheap booze and cheaper sex threatened to drag it down into the decay which surrounded it, but inside the place was clean and well-maintained. The room was on the third floor, pretty easy to find with one of the Chief's up-and-coming flat-foots outside. Pretty sure the kid used to idolize me, back in the good old days.

``Jenklin!''

Maybe he was even happy to see me. His black-and-tan rottie face wore a deliberate frown, though - he had to show his loyalty to Curnow. A pity, really, because he had a fine young figure under that police uniform. I had a vision of my paws running over that glossy black ass. Had I...? Focus, Jenklin! I scowled the thought away.

``Harry! Good to see you. Chief told you I'd be having a look around?''

The young dog nodded. ``Knock yourself out, I guess.''

Sparse but tasteful decor greeted me inside the apartment, incongruous with the shabby neighborhood outside. It felt sterile, used but not lived-in, like a hotel room. It all served to make the dead woman on the bed seem that much more pathetic.

Strangled, the chief had said. The queen-size bed took up most of the tiny bedroom. A pretty little samoyed lay twisted in the dark satin sheets, the thick white fur hiding the bruises on her neck unless you looked really close. Poor kid, I thought, but just for a moment. Can't be getting sentimental this early in the day.

No sign of a break in, probably a trick that went wrong, see if the guy left anything behind to identify him, the chief had said. Except under the rumpled sheets she wore pajamas with puppies on them, neat and undisturbed. That hardly seemed like working attire. I went back to the apartment door and squinted at the lock. It was the cheap kind that you could jimmy open with a broken hacksaw blade, and leave certain tell-tale scratches around the catch for a jaded private eye to find so that he knew his day just got more complicated.

So the killer was a professional, but street-wise, no fancy high-tech lock picks. Motive: was he after something? There was no sign that the room had been searched. I stood in the middle of the apartment and sampled the air, letting my nose look for anything unusual. There's a knack to it. You can't try to smell everything because you'll get overwhelmed; you have to relax and let your subconscious find the thing which is out of place.

I couldn't single out the perpetrator - too many cops had been in the room since. But I did get something - plastic and metal and batteries. I cast an eye around the room and there it was, a hint of shiny black hidden in a pot plant: a small tape recorder. Not placed casually on a table, but deliberately concealed, as if the owner was worried about someone finding it. I slipped it into an evidence bag that went into my pocket; no need to trouble Harry and his pals with extra paperwork.

Back in the office, I poured two fingers of single malt scotch and stared into the golden depths as I tried not to think of the latest unfortunate to be claimed by the city's ugly underbelly. A dog could get callous.

I was pretty sure the only prints on the tape recorder would belong to the dead samoyed, but I used a silk cloth to press the buttons anyway.

Muffled sounds from the tiny speaker. A key in the lock? Door being opened.

``Hi, Teddy!''

A feminine voice, young, a nervous edge. Probably our unfortunate victim.

``Hi, honey.''

That voice sounded familiar.

Small talk. The clink of a glass.

Another knock on the door.

``Shit.'' Teddy's voice. ``Who the hell could that be?''

Another knock, the kind which demands attention. A muffled voice - outside the door?

``I know you're in there, Teddy.''

``Fuck, how did that prick find me?'' Teddy, muttered. ``Go wait in the other room. I'll deal with this.''

Sound of a door closing, footsteps, another door opening.

``What do you want, Franco?''

``What, I can't visit my old pal Teddy? Your door is always open, right?''

``Sure, sure.''

I could feel the tension radiating from the little tape machine. I took a sip of the whiskey, just to be safe.

``But I'm a busy man, Franco, so let's get to the point, huh?''

``Ok then. It's about my... Retainer. I got expenses. I done you and your family a pretty good service, remember.''

``Get outa here. You're paid more than you're worth already.''

``You're a hard man, Teddy. I feel like talking to someone with a more sympathetic ear, you know what I mean? Like maybe the police chief. I'm sure he'd like to know the truth about the diamond.''

``Don't try to blackmail me with that crap. You'd never go to the cops - you're in it as deep as anyone!''

``You want to try me, Teddy? Maybe I don't even care anymore.''

``Look, I'll think about it, see what I can do, OK? In the meantime, clear out. I've got things to do.''

``Ok, Ok''. There was a pause, and I took a pull of the scotch and felt its smokey flavor burning a path down my throat. I imagined ``Franco'' getting up, making his way to the door. Then his voice again, more distant from the mic.

``I know you've been here with that Polly West tramp. You know she's trouble, right?''

``That's none of your goddamn business, pal''.

``Ok, Teddy. Just sayin'.''

Sounds of the door opening and closing again. Then, after a while, Polly coming out of the bedroom.

``What was that about?''

``Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, doll. Just business.''

Indistinct sounds for a while, then Teddy again.

``Not tonight, honey. I got a lot on my mind, OK?''

There was a bit more small-talk, and after a while Teddy announced that he had to go up town for a bit.

``Can I drop you off somewhere?'', he asked.

``It's late. I'll just stay here tonight, I think''.

Sounds of Teddy leaving, then the television. I crossed my paws, hoping and also dreading that the little tape captured the killer. But a dog can't always get lucky; the TV droned on and then the recording ran out, shortly after my drink.

My mind sometimes comes up with the an answer after it's been lubricated with a drop of Old Finest single malt. I suddenly remembered the voice of Teddy.

Teddy Liano. Mafioso.

Married to Julia Mayweather, heiress to the Mayweather family fortune. So it seemed like young Polly had got herself mixed up in something big, and now she was dragging me into it as well. Something told me that no good would come of it. No good at all. Here we go again, Jenklin...

 -

I had a dead girl, a powerful family, a thug called ``Franco'', and something about a diamond. Together, it added up to a big hill of trouble. I ought to walk away, real quick, and stick to finding wayward husbands. And maybe I would have, too, but something about that poor young samoyed (now on her way to the morgue) just tugged at me like a puppy that's got hold of your trouser hem. Annoying, but you can't just kick them away. She deserved better, and finding out the truth was the least I could do for her. And don't forget about the possibly of a reward, Jenk, or they'll think you've gone soft.

I leaned back in my chair and wondered what to do next. My reflection stared back from the window glass: a tall dog with soft fur, white apart from a dark patch over one eye. A strong muzzle. A lean physique built for guarding sheep in the steppes of Central Asia. The simple life, freedom, the sun on your fur and all that. Sure, a dog can dream. I'd probably be bored to death.

Fortunately a knock on my door brought an end to that sort of thinking. I had a job to do, after all, although I might still have walked away if she hadn't knocked on my door at that moment.

I called ``Come in'', one paw habitually on the gun that I keep strapped under the desk when I'm in the office. The door opened to reveal a dame.

Husky. Young, maybe mid 20s. Fur immaculate white blending to a striking gray at the tips. An expensive outfit, well kept but showing signs of wear. Her piercing blue eyes took in me and the office at a glance. I thought about how dusty the place was and how I hadn't put on a clean shirt. It was like her bright fur had lit up the room, and now you could see all the dirt.

``Mr Jenklin?'' Her uptown accent, along with the faded suit, added to the impression of old money that had fallen on hard times.

I stood, proffered a paw to shake hers. ``That would be me.'' I should prepare some witty lines for these situations. ``Private detective, available for your assistance.'' If she was here about a wayward husband, then he was a damn fool and certainly didn't deserve her. As if you'd have any chance with a lady like that, I thought. Keep it professional, Jenk.

``Have a seat.'' I gestured towards the padded chair facing the desk, hoping desperately that it was free from cobwebs. ``Tell me what's up, and I'll see if I can help.''

``Thank you, Mr Jenklin.''

The way she sat down in my creaky old chair somehow suggested style and good education. Class act, I thought. But there was a tiny shake to her paw, and it gripped her leather carry-bag just a bit too tight.

``My name is Sylvia Brighton. I'm afraid I've got involved in something, and I'm in over my head.'' I caught a shakiness in her voice, too. She was upset, but hiding it well.

``Tell me about it,'' I encouraged. Anatolians are good listeners, although it's not what we're best known for.

``I'm a photographer, Mr Jenklin. Freelance, everything from weddings to crime reporting. I'm pretty good, although the work isn't always regular.''

That sounded familiar.

``A week ago, I was contacted by a client with plenty of money and suspicions about her husband. She would pay well for photographic evidence of an affair. A sordid sort of job, and I'm ashamed to say it's not the first time. But one has to keep the lights on, after all.''

I nodded a heartfelt agreement to that.

``Yesterday, after a little detective work, I managed to get suitable pictures of the dog in question, visiting his secret apartment with a young lady. All quite predictable, of course.''

She leaned forward.

``But I was shocked to discover that the young lady in question was my... '' She hesitated for a moment, and I got that feeling of suppressed emotions again. She took a breath, then continued.

``She was my friend and also my boarder. I was surprised, as you can imagine. But still, you're thinking, surely this was just a strange coincidence. I thought the same. But last night... She was murdered.''

I got that sinking feeling you get when things start looking even more complicated.

``Your friend... Was her name Polly West?''

The lady gave a little start when I mentioned the name of the dead samoyed. My sinking feeling accelerated downward like a burning plane with a dead pilot slumped over the controls.

``You've heard... about her, then, Mr Jenklin?''

I nodded.

``Unfortunately yes.'' I almost mentioned police chief Curnow, but thought better of it. I'd like to say it was because I'm smart and perceptive, but really, I just didn't want to sound like the Chef's lapdog. It was fortunate that I kept quiet, though.

``There's more to this, too,'' Sylvia continued. ``Polly is - was - a freelance reporter, and she was working on a story. Something big. Political. She said...''

The Husky shuddered. She had to stop for a moment and compose herself.

``She said she didn't know who to trust. Not even... The police. That's why I came to see you. I was thinking... Perhaps you can at least help me figure out what she was involved in.''

Well, I really hoped I was worthy of her faith. But she was also a huge boon to the case, and clues that good (or good-looking) don't usually just walk in and knock on my door. Maybe the patron saint of drunks and private investigators was watching over me for once.

``I can certainly give it my best shot, Ma'am.'' I said.

She visibly relaxed at that, and forget the money, just the sight of that beautiful lady looking a bit happier was almost enough for me. Almost enough, because there's still rent to pay. OK, so maybe I have a thing for those blue Husky eyes and upright ears. It's not a crime.

Focus, Jenklin.

Sylvia had been rummaging in her bag. She pulled out a brown paper envelope and dropped it on my desk. ``The photos,'' she said.

I slid them out and flicked on the desk lamp. She really was good at her job. The pictures were excellent - clear focus, good lighting, perfect exposure. A stocky dog in a distinctive pin-stripe suit and bowler hat. Well-cut, just a bit flamboyant. Back to the camera. Another shot, this time bending down to kiss a samoyed on the cheek: Polly West. The couple going in to a familiar building, Polly smiling. It looked like true love. A shot taken through the apartment window, a passionate kiss but too indistinct to be useful. The dog exiting the building, alone, this time with his face to the camera. A very recognizable doberman: Teddy Liano.

``This was your target?'' I asked, holding up the picture of Teddy. Sylvia nodded.

``And what about this one?'' I held up the last picture. It showed another dog, a shorter terrier in a cheap suit, with a surly expression and a scar across one side of his face.

``Oh, they are out of order. He came out a bit earlier. I don't really know why I photographed him, except that he looked out-of-place somehow.''

I had a strong hunch that I was looking at the mysterious Frankie, prime suspect. I still didn't have much to go on. But as I held the envelope, one more photo dropped out. It showed our friend Frankie again, this time getting into a cab. In the corner of the photo, I could easily read the registration plate on the taxi: 317-CTS.

The parton saint of gumshoes was definitely smiling on me today.

He was in the office when I called the cab company, and I had to smile at his enthusiasm when he heard it was me on the phone. I could imagine him bouncing from one foot to the other when I said I needed his help with a case.

317-CTS: ``Corgi Taxi Service''. It was our little joke, Charlie the Corgi Cabby and me. Well, probably me and everyone else who had ever hailed Charlie's cab and noticed the plate. He was the nicest little dog you could hope to meet in this dog-eat-dog town, and he always looked delighted when I made the joke. Maybe it was because he had a massive crush on me. He was a cute kind of fella in his own way, and I always thought, maybe... But then I never did. Anyway, I'm sure he had a wife and kids. Who are you kidding, Jenklin. Like that ever stopped you...

``Sure, I'll be right over!''

I brewed coffee while we waited, and the familiar yellow cab had screeched to a halt outside the building before the black liquid had even finished trickling into the pot. I'm sure he must have broken every traffic law to get there so fast. I always felt a bit guilty for leading him on. I introduced him to Sylvia, and if he felt jealous when he found an attractive husky lady in my office, he didn't show it.

With the coffee poured, I showed him the photos. Scar-face Frankie outside the apartment; Frankie getting in to Charlie's cab.

``Oh yeah!'' Charlie nodded enthusiastically. ``I remember that guy. Seemed kind of mean. Didn't know anything about the Barkers.''

To be fair, I don't know anything about the Barkers either - not even what sport is involved - but Charlie didn't seem to hold it against me.

``You remember where you took him?''

``Sure, I think so. A warehouse down by the docks''.

The corgi's big ears were swiveled forward and I could hear his tail wagging against the chair back. This sounded like real detective work, and he was very excited. ``Hey, I could take you there now, if you want.''

Strike while the iron is hot, as they say. I nodded. ``Sylvia, you're welcome to wait here if you like,'' I suggested as I eased the gun out of its little slot under the desk and slipped it into my shoulder holster. I figured she wouldn't want to risk her pretty white fur down in the greasy parts of town. I figured wrong. She shot me an angry glare just for suggesting it.

``I'm coming along too'', she said. I didn't feel like arguing, especially since I'd be billing her for the expenses. So we all clattered down the stairs and piled in to Charlie's cab. He gunned the engine, and I noticed he was grinning like a kid as we pulled away with a squeal from the tires.

``Do you get many tickets?'' I asked as we lurched onto 5th Avenue.

``Oh no, they never pull over a cab. Might be some rich big-wig in a hurry! Great way for a cop to get a demotion.''

``Is that right! Well, no hurry.''

I got the excited Corgi to stop a block away from the address, and wait for us there. I opened my mouth to tell Sylvia to wait in the car as well, but she shot me another look before I could say anything.

The dingy warehouse building had seen better days, and then worse days, and then been forgotten. The huge main doors hadn't opened in years, but there was a small side door which showed signs of regular use.

``You'd better wait here,'' I whispered to Sylvia, ``At least until I have a look around. And keep watch on the road - I don't want any surprises.''

She nodded, and her fur caught the late afternoon sun. It would have made a great photo shoot, I thought, that beautiful white and gray fur and her intense blue eyes, against the sweeping backdrop of rusty iron wall. I shook off those thoughts real quick. There was a job to be done.

If I was still a cop, I'd have to knock, or get a warrant. But I wasn't a cop anymore, and subterfuge seemed smart under the circumstances. The big old lock was easy enough to pick when you knew how. Gun in hand, I eased the door open and peered inside.

Darkness. I crouched, hopefully out of sight, and let my eyes adjust. My nose told me a lot, too - scents of rusty iron and old oil mostly, but also the musk of a canine who passed through here often. Recently, too, but I couldn't tell if he was in or not.

I could make out the tangled shapes of ancient machinery to either side, draped in pipes and cables like jungle vines. Ahead, a staircase led up to a mezzanine floor where light spilled from an open door. The scent of our resident canine seemed stronger in that direction. I moved towards the foot of the stairs, keeping a close eye on that door. The door which was suspiciously half-open to attract my attention... Too late, I realized my mistake. I saw the shape just as it lurched out of the shadows to my right. I swung up my arm to fend off the swinging baseball bat, and my ears rang as it glanced painfully off my head and shoulder. My gun clattered and spun away into the shadows under the hulking machinery.

I had some training when I was with the force, although that was a few years and a few bottles of Scotland's Finest in the past. I let myself turn with the momentum of the blow and brought up my left fist, and it connected with my opponent's jaw in that way which is jarring but you know hurt the other guy more. He staggered back and I followed up with a right jab to his solar plexus - nothing fancy, just old-fashioned slugging. He caught a heel on something and crashed backwards against the side of a huge steel vat, right into a pool of light from an overhead skylight.

In an instant of frozen time, I saw the familiar scar across his face and knew it was our man Frankie. My mind tracked the future trajectory of the baseball bat, plenty of time to see that it was going to swing at me again, but no time to get out of the way. But then the whole building reverberated with the sound of two quick gun shots, and the bat dropped to the floor. Frankie slumped back against the metal behind him, and I dived into the shadows as I tried to figure out where the shots had come from. High up, to one side of the mezzanine... I risked a glance and saw a figure on a catwalk, silhouetted against a high window, gun raised and pointed right at me.

I was still trying to decide whether to roll away or hold still when a roaring sound came out of the gloom overhead, and a length of heavy chain swung down and smashed into the silhouette. The gun barked and a bullet ricocheted off metal somewhere above my head as the shooter was knocked to one side. He scrambled back from the swinging chain and vanished out the window, presumably to a fire escape at the back of the building. As I tried to grasp the sequence of events, I saw a flash of bright white fur up on the catwalk.

The sudden silence was broken by coughing and wheezing sounds. Frankie lay propped against the machinery, blood spreading from the hole in his chest. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the catwalk and my nose caught Sylvia's scent. Guess I was lucky she didn't stay outside. ``Sylvia, run out to Charlie, and tell him to get on his radio and get a meat-wagon down here.''

I knelt down beside the dying dog as I reminded myself that he'd strangled a young samoyed just yesterday, so no need to waste too many tears on him. But I needed information. ``Frankie!'' I said, giving his shoulder a little shake, maybe to convince him not to go towards the light just yet. ``Frankie, what's going on? What's all this about the Mayweathers and a diamond?''

His fading eyes swiveled towards me as he coughed up some blood. There was a strange sort of grin on his muzzle.

``S... Stupid gumshoe.'' His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. ``You think the... the diamond... is a jewel?'' He shuddered in a sort of cough-laugh, then stared into the distance, almost like he'd forgotten I was there.

``I blew `em to hell,'' he croaked. ``Ya shoulda seen it. It was beautiful. All those... Rich fucks. Politicians. Blew `em right to hell. The diamond....''

His head slumped forward, and I knew I wouldn't be getting anything else from him. I felt around in the gloom until I found my gun.

 -

I blew `em to hell.

But what was he talking about and what did it all have to do with the Mayweathers and a diamond which wasn't a jewel?

The open door beckoned me up the stairs. I kept my gun out, but I figured I'd had my double surprise for the day. I was right; the office on the mezzanine was empty apart from the stacks of stale take-out containers and dusty porn mags. There was a television, and a bed, and a little bathroom through a door. There might have been a kitchen bench somewhere under the pile of dirty dishes and empty bourbon bottles. Everything was as filthy as a two-bit gangster's bachelor pad. It made me feel a bit better - at least I'd cleaned my apartment some time in the last year.

I was about to leave, since the place seemed about as interesting as the minutes from a meeting of the refrigerator salesman's guild. But then I spotted a faded newspaper clipping pinned to the shabby wallpaper.

MAYORAL CANDIDATE KILLED IN GAS EXPLOSION

The photo showed a debris-strewn sidewalk in front of a blackened hole, gaping like a toothless skull, which had once been a hotel foyer.  That jogged my memory. It had been a couple of years ago, back when I was still on the force. A gas explosion had killed a number of people at a hotel restaurant. Thirteen, according to the article.

I blew `em to hell.

I peered at the facade of the building in the photograph. Sure enough, there it was, in charred brass letters above the ruins: Diamond Hotel.

So maybe the explosion wasn't an accident after all. But how did the Mayweathers fit into the picture? Or Polly West? I needed more.

 -

I found Sylvia outside. ``Ambulance and the city's finest are on the way,'' she said. I nodded.

``So much for waiting outside,'' I said. Death had made me terse.

``Well, you're lucky I didn't. You're welcome, by the way.''

``OK, thanks. But just try not to get yourself killed, alright?''

The recent violence hadn't cooled Charlie's enthusiasm, and his ears pivoted forward as we piled back into his cab.

``Let's go!'' I said, ``Before the chief and his boys arrive and we get stuck here for three hours explaining what went down.''

I could hear sirens in the distance as Charlie gunned the engine and we lurched out and away from the crummy warehouse and the dead thug.

I blew `em to hell.

It was time for some dull research, and after being hit with a bat and shot at, I was ready for it. I had Charlie drop us off at the library, then sent him home. He was visibly disappointed.

With Sylvia's help, we soon amassed a collection of articles about the Diamond Hotel disaster. The more I found, the less I liked it. One article had a list of the victims, and there we found the names Marie and Joseph West: Polly's parents. So that explained her interest. We also found some articles about the big new downtown development, with its swanky mall and luxury offices. The Mayweathers had done very well out of that one, and - surprise - the deceased mayoral candidate had been campaigning to cancel the project (something about kick-backs, dubious re-zoning, and preserving the character of the city). So there it was, wrapped up with a bow: A thug blackmails a crime boss after an assassination which enabled a corrupt property deal.

``You have to take this to the police!'' Sylvia said as we surveyed the pile of newspaper clippings we'd copied. I nodded; together they sketched out a sordid tale. I'd done my bit; now it was time for the law to get involved.

``I'll go see the police chief in the morning,'' I said. ``Can I walk you to your apartment?''

``Mr Jenklin...'' Her usual confidence slipped a bit. ``I don't feel comfortable there right now. Would I perhaps... Be able to stay with you tonight? I don't want to be a nuisance; just a spot on your couch would be fine.''

A gorgeous husky lady wanted to stay in my apartment because she didn't feel safe. I needed that kind of trouble about as much as I needed a baseball bat to the head.

``Sure'', I said, ``No problem at all.'' I'm pretty sure I stopped my tail before it wagged. Don't even think it, Jenklin, you ass. But I knew I'd think it.

 -

The Jenklin den was conveniently upstairs from my office and equally dusty. We had Chinese takeout and cheap red wine while I organized my pile of notes and articles, ready to show to Chief Curnow. Sylvia watched me while I re-read various pages and rehearsed my pitch.

I tossed the papers aside and tried to hide a yawn which threatened to ruin my tough street-wise image. But I think Sylvia had already seen right through me, and I didn't even care. It felt warm and comfortable there on my dusty couch with the husky, so I refilled our glasses with the wine, which was starting to taste pretty good after all.

Sometimes I pretend to be a Good Dog. Maybe it's my guardian dog ancestry - generations of protecting remote villages where everyone knew their place and knew how to behave - at least, that's how my old mother described it. So I showed Sylvia to my bedroom, and grabbed a blanket and a cushion for myself. The couch wasn't so bad; I'd fallen asleep there many times.

I stripped off my crumpled clothes and stretched out naked under the blanket. Wearing pants to bed always made me feel overdressed, like a tuxedo at a beach party. Anatolians were made for cooler climates. Jenklin dog is kind of fluffy, apart from my lower belly and sheath. It's a pretty nice sheath too, I sometimes think, when I'm not distracted by some new crime in this stinking town.

My paw was just idly moving over the soft but full shape which hid my package - just out of unconscious habit, you understand - when a tall husky silhouette with graceful pointed ears appeared in the doorway.

``I was just thinking....'' I couldn't see her face, but her voice sounded silky in the dark. ``It's a bit chilly, and... Well, you needn't sleep on that old couch if you don't want to. I feel bad forcing you out of your own bed.'' She started to turn away, then stopped. ``There's plenty of room...''

As if her meaning wasn't completely clear. As for the temperature... Well that was true enough, since the heating was inadequate even when it worked. But of course a husky would be less bothered by the cold than me.

I should have stayed on the couch. That was the correct and proper thing to do. But correct and proper isn't the Jenklin way. You're just giving some emotional support to a lady who's had a difficult time, I told myself. Nothing improper. Maybe I even believed myself, just a bit. So I abandoned the couch and the blanket, and tip-toed towards my bed where a husky waited.

The bedside lamp was on, giving a warm orange glow to the room. There she was, propped up on one elbow, black satin pajamas oozing over her white fur. Her striking blue eyes scanned my body, and I remembered that I was still naked. I'm naturally tall and lean, tending towards lanky, and I try to keep in good shape. Her gaze rested for a moment on my naked pink sheath, then danced away, like the dollar bill that slipped out of your hand and got caught by the wind. I saw a smile on her muzzle, the kind of look that leads you into that alleyway of delights that you know you don't deserve, but there you are already. And I was there already, easing under the covers next to her.

``How are you feeling?'' I murmured. Inside, I was thinking that wasn't a very Jenklin thing to say, hardly the tough private eye, the dog of few words. But a part of me was still pretending that I was just there for comfort and support, nothing more.

``Shhh...'' She whispered, leaning over to kiss my muzzle, and that part of me vanished faster the pay from last week's job.

Sweet husky tongue entwined with mine. My paws found the soft fur of her midriff as I slid them under the satin. I was lost in the smell of her as her muzzle licked eagerly at mine. Some time later, I was aware that the pajamas had come off, and there was hot fur pressed against me. I broke away, and lowered my nose, burying it in her chest fur, filling myself with the smell of her, and then down, and her body stiffened as my tongue found the soft folds of her cookie.

You're an idiot, Jenklin, I thought as I felt my cock swelling in my sheath. Sure, I've got a thing for pretty huskies; its the worst-kept secret in town. But this was hardly the time. Any dog with a shred of decency wouldn't take advantage of a vulnerable lady. Only, it didn't seem like I was the one taking advantage when she pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me, especially as she pressed her sweet hot entrance against my sheath, and my weapon slid deep inside her. At that point, I realized it had been a while, and I'd been missing sweet feminine distraction... A lot.

Later, as we lay in a dreamy tie, I felt something stirring in me, a part of me I thought was long dead.

Careful, Jenklin. Don't be getting sentimental...

 -

Waking up beside a sweet husky was a particular pleasure that was far too rare in my life, like finding a decent burger in this town, or being up-to-date on the rent. It took a while to get motivated and get out of bed.

She looked radiant in the morning light, like Venus With Coffee (not that I know anything about classical art, but it sounded grand).

``I'm going to see the police chief this morning,'' I said. ``You'd better wait here. The chief and I... We have some history.''

``Ok'', she nodded. I was a little surprised that she agreed without argument, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. My real fear, should I arrive in the chief's office with a lady in tow, was that he'd bring up the topic of his wife.

Police Chief Curnow agreed to see me, then kept me waiting for forty-five minutes. The coffee at the station hadn't got any better. I don't know how you make coffee taste like burned car tires; maybe it's special police issue beans.

``Jenklin!'' The chief?s gruff voice greeted me when I was finally ushered into his office. He wasn't exactly wagging with enthusiasm, but anything above a growl was generally considered positive with the surly German Shepherd. ``I hope you're here with some news on that dead hooker case.''

``News, sure, Chief'', I said, although I didn't work for him or the police anymore. ``She got herself mixed up in quite a sordid mess.''

The old Shepherd rolled his eyes at this, as if he expected me to waste his time with a story about a coke deal gone bad or some other gutter vice. But as I laid out the connections between poor Polly, the hotel explosion, and the Mayweather family, I saw his expression darken.

``That's enough, Jenklin'', he growled before I'd even finished. ``You can't come in here making unfounded accusations about one of our city's finest families.''

I think I was gaping at him like a fish on his first trip to a raunchy fish strip-club. ``But it's all here, Chief! Clear evidence that the hotel explosion was an assassination! You gotta reopen the case!''

``Entirely circumstantial,'' he muttered. ``You don't have anything which would stand up in court.'' But I noticed that he wouldn't meet my gaze.

So there it is, I thought. Even Police Chief Curnow wasn't going to stand up to them. There was nothing more to do except gather what was left of my pride and try for a dignified exit.

 -

When I got back to the office, it was emptier than my bank account. So she?s gone to get some breakfast without you, I thought. I don?t know why I would feel disappointed about it, what with us being strictly professional and everything. Then I noticed the note on my desk.

Gone out to attend to some business. Back by lunch time.

She?d been employed to take photos, so I?d bet good whiskey that she meant to deliver the pictures and collect her payment. What can I say; I?m a detective. It?s my job to make educated guesses and pretend I?m being clever.

That meant she was going to meet Julia Mayweather, and I felt cold prickles of apprehension about all the ways that might be a bad idea. Sylvia was my client right now and there wouldn?t be any juicy expense claims if something bad happened to her. Sure, Jenklin. That?s the only reason you?re checking your gun is safely concealed in its holster before you hurry out the door and down the stairs.

I grabbed a cab which happened to be waiting right outside the building. It wasn?t Charlie the Corgi, but the perky little terrier still cut through the morning traffic like a politician trying to get to a free buffet. We veered to a stop around the corner from the building and I stepped out, trying to look like Joe Cool despite the little voice which urged me to hurry. I scanned the street with a casual eye, but saw nobody I recognized. That didn?t mean it wasn?t a trap, just that I couldn?t see it.

The nondescript gray stone building housed an office on the third floor which belonged to the Mayweathers and was used - officially - for file storage. Julia Mayweather also used it for clandestine meetings. How did I know about it? No comment. I loitered in the tobacconist across the street.  Hopefully it looked like I was checking the Gentleman?s Entertainment magazines while I secretly checked the street and the building entrance. Nobody else seemed to be watching the place. Or maybe they were just better at it than me.

But then I got lucky. A big car with darkened windows pulled up outside, and a well-dressed lady stepped out. Tall, thin, and with the regal features of a Great Dane, she was the kind of dame who?d turn heads in any room, although anyone with any sense would know better than to stare, especially ordinary gumshoes like me. I don?t buy any of that breedist crap about how certain types of people are destined for certain roles in life, but if you were going to imagine the lady in charge of a powerful crime family, you?d probably picture a Dane just like her. Julia Mayweather.

I peeked past a magazine as she strode up the stairs and into the lobby. As the door swung shut, I saw a familiar husky figure step forward to greet her: Sylvia. My hunch had been correct.

I loitered for a couple of minutes longer, just to make sure they hadn?t spotted me. I wasn?t even quite sure what I was going to do. I had a bad feeling that something was going down but I didn?t know what it was or how to stop it. Typical Jenk. All it takes is a pretty lady and you lose your cool.

Something caught my eye at a cafe table just along the street. A subtle movement of a newspaper at just the right moment showed that someone behind it was also watching Julia. I only caught a glimpse, but I recognized the scowling face of Teddy Liano. So now I knew something really was going down, and it smelled worse than a dead rat under the refrigerator.

A couple of things were clear. Teddy had been waiting for his wife while staying out of sight, and he wasn?t in a good mood. And, like me, he was waiting for Julia and Sylvia to get in the elevator so he wouldn?t be seen. I was liking this less and less. However, I definitely owed a bottle of the good scotch to the patron saint of drunks and gumshoes: If I?d moved too soon, I?d have had Teddy on my tail. Instead, it was the other way around.

Teddy folded the newspaper casually and dropped some change on the table, all carefree-joe-heading-for-the-office. At least, that?s how I imagined the scene since I wasn?t gawping, just sneaking quick glances. I like to think there?s a knack to it, and I haven?t been spotted yet. That I know of. I did get a clear view as Teddy got up and strolled across the street to our favorite office block. The place sure was popular today.

Once he was inside the lobby, I risked putting down my magazine and heading across myself. The gun-shaped bulge under Teddy's jacket was adding to the clawing tension in my guts. Come on, Jenklin. Time to show your mettle.

The lobby was out because I didn?t know how long Teddy would need to wait for the elevator and I couldn?t risk being spotted. I ducked down an alley which led to the back of the building, and did a pretty decent gymnast impression as I jumped up and grabbed the fire escape ladder. With a bit of grunting and some grazed knuckles I made it to the landing. It?s just lucky I?m tall.

A fire-escape door led to the stairwell. Of course, it was locked from the inside with a deadbolt, but I happened to know that it was one of those locks - the kind you can open by jamming a regular key into the gap and then jiggling the door just the right way. Don?t ask how I knew about it. Let?s just say that I?ve got an eye for those kind of details when I think it might be useful.

My luck held and the door opened easily. The office was on the second floor, so I padded up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could. Despite the concerning situation, I was kinda enjoying myself. Just a bit. Action sure beats sitting around the office, at least until the action involves me getting beaten.

I peered through a glass pane in the stairwell door. It was the kind of drab brown-carpet hallway which could have been anywhere until the lift opened and Teddy stepped out, still scowling. I could just see the door further down the corridor with the discreet "Eastside Property Holdings Ltd" sign.

Did Teddy?s hand move towards the gun concealed inside his jacket as he exited the lift and turned down the hall? I couldn?t really see, and I had to be sure. I mean, maybe he had flowers or chocolates for his wife. I saw his other hand leave his pocket, holding a key. He slid it into the lock and turned it slowly. Not in the way a good husband would if he was bringing flowers.

I waited until he eased the door open and took a step inside before I moved. I slipped through the stairwell door and stole down the beige carpet to the office. Teddy had closed the door behind him, but I could hear raised voices from the other side.

"You forget yourself, Theodore." A cultured feminine voice. Julia Mayweather. "My father built this business. You were nothing more than a common street hustler when he found you, and you?ll end up back there if you?re not careful.''

"You fucking stuck-up bitch!"

I?d already decided things were getting out of hand, and Teddy?s outburst covered the sound of me opening the door, even as my other hand pulled out my own gun.

The door opened into an office. I got the impression of stacks of cardboard cartons and shelves loaded with files, and a wooden desk, large but plain. Time had slowed to a crawl, like a Monday morning with no clients. Julia sat behind the desk, looking sharp as ever in an outfit of autumn tones which complimented her tan fur. Sylvia sat to one side, like she?d just been talking to Julia. Teddy was between me and the desk, and the gun was in his hand. I could see the glint of light on the sleek metal as it swung towards Julia.

I acted on instinct before I had time to think. The sound of the shot reverberated around the room, shattering the momentary stillness. Teddy folded like a marionette with its strings cut. I kicked his gun away then checked for a pulse, but I already knew he wouldn?t be causing trouble for anyone anymore. I?m a pretty good shot when I need to be.

"Ah, Jenklin, darling." Julia leaned back in her chair, like she?d been enjoying a gin and tonic by the pool and not being threatened with a gun by her now-deceased husband in a homicidal rage. "I was starting to worry that you wouldn?t show up!"

I think my jaw must have dropped open for a moment before I controlled it.

"I?m predictable, obviously. Lucky for you."

"Well, let?s say I had reason to believe that I might need your... specialist assistance. I had one of my dogs watching you so I knew you were on your way. I don?t like leaving such crucial matters to luck, you know."

The whole gig was getting more confusing than a game of charades in a hall of mirrors, so I put away my gun and tried to put together what I knew. On a hunch, I rifled through dead Teddy?s pockets, and struck the jackpot in a piece of crumpled yellow notepaper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a grimace from Julia as I smoothed it out. Her uncharacteristic show of surprise told me a bunch. She?d seen this note before, and she didn?t want me to know about it.

Sylvia,

Please meet me at Eastside Holdings office at 11 to discuss photos re: Teddy and payment of your fee.

-Julia

I must have scowled at Julia as some pieces of this puzzle fell into place. Her face showed a look of resignation, but it was the kind of resignation of someone who knows they have won anyway, even though you?ve found out their secret.

"So," I growled, tossing the note on the desk for dramatic effect. "Teddy knew you?d hired someone to get pictures, and that?s why he was pissed off. And he knew about it because you left a note somewhere that you knew he?d find it. Because you always have everything planned, and you wouldn?t be so sloppy by accident."

Julia rolled her eyes. "I might just have let him find it, yes. Typical of that idiot to bring it with him and give the game away."

She looked down at her former husband, now gone to whatever hell awaits gangsters who are not especially smart. She actually smiled a little. "Still", she said, "I won?t have to put up with his idiotic posturing any more, not to mention his indiscreet affairs with pretty young ladies. So it?s worked out well."

"So this whole thing was a set-up from the start." My voice remained low and steady. Inside, I was madder than a swarm of bees in a tin. "You used me to get rid of Teddy because he was a threat to your control of the family business!" Somehow, the gun was back in my paw and pointed right at her. Just to rub salt in my wounds, she didn?t even look worried.

"Calm down now, Jenklin darling. We both know you?re not going to use that on me."

Memories of her fine Great Dane form, naked in the firelight. Those beautiful statuesque curves. Her thin fur pressed against me. It was a long time ago, but she was right. I wasn?t going to shoot her. I?d been played from the start, Jenklin the idiot gumshoe, always a sucker when it came to the dames. I put the gun away.

"That?s better," she said. "If it?s any consolation, I only planned to get some incriminating photos as grounds for divorce. That would have been dangerous, of course, but I didn't have much choice. But when you got involved... Well, it seemed like a golden opportunity. You really are very good, you know, despite being quite predictable."

It was a compliment of a sort, I suppose, like being told you?re comfortable to sit on.

"And what about the Diamond?"

Julia?s face darkened at that. Perhaps there was even a hint of remorse.

"That was entirely Teddy?s operation - I swear I knew nothing about it. A despicable business."

"And yet you seem to have done pretty well out of it."

"Well, it couldn?t be undone after the fact, and I wasn?t going to turn down a good opportunity, was I?".

She had the confidence of money and power behind her, and she knew there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"And now, I?ve managed to clean up the whole thing for you. No more blackmail. No more loose ends." I couldn?t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"Now now, darling. Don?t be too harsh on yourself. You?ve been very useful to me, and you?ll find that my gratitude might include certain benefits."

"Thanks, but maybe some benefits I can live without. Meanwhile, now I have to deal with the police chief and try to explain this little mess." I nodded towards the late Teddy.

"Don?t worry, I?ll vouch for you. It was obviously self-defense. There won?t be any problems for you."

She was right, of course. But I?d still have to stick around and give a statement, which was a pain in the ass because I really needed a drink.

 -

The brown suitcase sat alone on the sidewalk like a traveling salesman in a bar on a Tuesday night. I stared at it while I waited. Pretty soon Sylvia came back from the restroom, looking impeccable as ever. My heart did a little dance when I saw her, but I told it to shut up.

"Maybe I should stay..." She said. That sentence might have ruined my resolve, except that I was expecting it. My cousin ran a small-town paper up north, and they needed a photographer. It would be a much better gig than what she had going now.

"You know you gotta get out of town, at least for a while. You?re too involved in... everything." She knew too much, of course. Julia Mayweather had seemed relaxed about it all, but I didn?t trust her.

"But what about you?"

"Don?t worry about me. I can look after myself." And of course, Julia wouldn?t do anything to me. I was useful. I was under her thumb. But no need to say that out loud.

"I know," she said, "And I really am looking forward to this job.''

She kissed me on the cheek then, and my resolve almost broke again. Almost. Then she turned to the waiting bus and put a foot on the stairs.

"I?ll come back someday when it?s safe," she said, looking back from the door. "You?ll let me know, won?t you?"

"Sure", I said. "Take care, Sylvia.''

She smiled and gave a final wave as she disappeared inside. I waited while the engine started, just to make sure she didn?t change her mind. I waved as the gears crunched and the bus pulled slowly away.

I turned back to the city, with its red brick buildings, it?s traffic burble and constant background smell of people and garbage and takeout food.

I could take a break, I thought, and go visit her.

Sure, Jenklin. Like she needs that kind of trouble...

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