Chapter 11.

I heard her before I saw her, which seemed to be her way.

It wasn't a good way, and it got people killed, but I wasn't here to offer free advice.

I had coming here to try and get the stink of robbery homicide off my clothes, or at least

stopped noticing it quite so much.

The stomp of the high-heeled boots was distinctive, and they told me Blondie was still 20 feet away.

I raised my glass to signal the bartender that I could use another beer.

He nodded, but he wasn't exactly looking at me when he did so.

I swiveled my bar stool 180 degrees and rested my elbows on the bar behind me.

Trixie Dixon, girl detective, glared

daggers at me. She did that a lot. You bastard, she said, pointing an index finger at me.

That didn't seem to be a question, and I wasn't prepared to argue the point, so I didn't say anything.

The bartender put my beer down on the bar beside my right arm with a small thump so I would know it was there.

Thanks, Jimmy, I said. I can't believe you would sell out your client like that. She hissed at me.

Now I was confused and did my best to show it. You wouldn't be taking the air just now if you hadn't done the same thing, Princess.

And my client may have broken a few of the harder to keep commandments, but at least he isn't a blackmailer.

A what? She seemed genuinely thrown by this. Or a good liar, which was my bet. You heard me, I said.

Not much point trying to shield my client. When the cops heard your story, they would have known who

you were taking pictures of and why. What made you think I would talk first? She bristled, drawing herself up to her full

height as if that was going to do any good if it came down to it. I didn't know and I didn't give a

damn, I said. I knew you'd talk sooner or later. This is a murder investigation now and Sabian takes

those pretty seriously. My client might be a louse, but I got the feeling he legitimately had

...