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

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

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

The name's Dixon. Trixie Dixon, Girl Detective.

No one would mistake my line of work for that of a fairy princess, that's for sure.

It's cheap, it's nasty, it's lurid, and those are its more redeeming qualities.

A girl detective will often have entire professional relationships

with individuals whose eyes never rise above her neckline,

even if she's got a face that's worth looking at.

And I certainly do have that, even if I do say so myself.

Of course, the alternate view is also a pretty spectacular landscape,

so I certainly see their point,

but is a little middle ground too much to ask? I digress ever so slightly. I am known to do that

upon occasion. But the point is that the job is nasty, the environment leaves something to be desired,

and the people are the pits. But that is not what distinguishes your girl detective

from your fairy tale godmother type. What differs most between myself and the aforementioned

pixie dust spreading menaces to society is that my job is not to make dreams come true. In fact,

my job is often the exact opposite. Unless your dream happens to be learning that your husband of 22 years

is not only having an affair with his enthusiastic secretary and a dental hygienist, but is also

married to another woman who lives in Batavia, New York, with his other family that you never

knew anything about. That's my average day, and it doesn't get me down at all, though it's

just possible that is a side effect of the booze.

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