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.

Thank you, as Trixie Dixon Girl Detective. The name's Justice. Jack, Justice. By this point, I hope you have acquired something of a general

impression of my esteemed partner, the girl detective, colored by my own perspective, and hers.

But still, patterns have emerged and you don't have to be a detective to spot them.

She can pass for a swell lady as long as she doesn't open her mouth,

or the girl your mother warned you about if she's feeling her oats.

Beneath that hard-boiled sass-mouth exterior lies a hard-boiled sass-mouth exterior "'lies a hard-boiled sass-mouth interior,

"'and that consistency is one of the very few reasons

"'that I have yet to strangle her.

"'No one's ever accused me of being an expert on romance,

"'but Trixie's taste in fellas always left a little something to be desired.

"'Most of the time she favored a narrow subspecies of the gender, the kind with manicured

fingernails and a knowledge of which fork to use for the escargo that bordered on the esoteric.

Not that she hungered for the uptown life.

She was just a sucker for a fellow whose arm she could break if he got too fresh.

Or maybe not fresh enough.

I don't like to pry.

But she got bored real easy.

And when she was in the final stages of shaking one of her fancified suitors loose,

she would often let slip a stream of consciousness torrent of scorn that made me glad

...