Once again, Decoder Ring Theater presents another page from the casebook of that Master of Mystery,

that's Sultan of Sleothing, Martin Bracknell's immortal detective, Black Jack Justice,

starring Christopher Mott as Jack and Andrea Lyons as Trixie Dixon Girl Detective.

The name's Justice. Jack, Justice.

In my line of work, a man is different things to different people.

To the pencil pushers down at City Hall, I'm a licensed private investigator, with a little tin shield to prove it.

To the folks who stumble through my door, I'm a gum shoe, a Seamus, a private dick.

Whatever they like, it's their nickel.

I'm here to solve their problems, get them out of a jam or confirm their worst fears.

Some want the brains, some want the brawn.

Me? I want the green, so I make both available.

If the job gets done and your nose is close to its original

shape, you call it a good day's work. You try and give the client what they want. But sometimes

it ain't easy to tell what that is. Some want the savior, some want the sap. Some can't seem to

make up their minds. This hears the story of one of those times. It was 8.15 in the morning

when the door opened. If Trixie was surprised to see me

at my desk, she didn't give me the satisfaction of showing it. She closed the office door,

the glass pane that bore the words, Jack Justice investigations, rattling softly behind her.

Good morning, sunshine, getting an early start. Something like that. Can't imagine why, since we

don't have a case. Just catching up on some paperwork.

Paperwork, right.

The name's Dixon.

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