It must have been Friday because the fish smell from the Mansion House coffee-shop next door was strong enough to build a garage on. Apart from that it was a nice warm day in spring, the tail of the afternoon, and there hadn't been any business in a week. I had my heels in the groove on my desk and was sunning my ankles in a wedge of sunlight when the phone rang. I took my hat off it and made a yawning sound into the mouthpiece.
A voice said: "I heard that. You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Johnny Dalmas. Ever hear of the Austrian case?"
It was Violets M'Gee, a homicide dick in the sheriff's office and a very nice guy except for one bad habit-passing me cases where I got tossed around and didn't make enough money to buy a secondhand corset.
"No."
Read the rest of "Bay City Blues."
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