So, I had my clodhoppers up on the desk and my fedora down over my nose when I heard the click-click-click of high heels in the hall. Mine is the only office on this floor so I sat up and then leaned back to ease my feet to the floor. I was catching my breath from the exertion when the door swung open.

I've gotta get that doorknob catch fixed.

A moment later, the chick attached to the legs wearing the heels that were clicking timidly stepped around the corner and pegged me with her eyes. She had on a dress with more slink than that springy kid toy thingamacallit. Oh yeah. A Slinky. Perfectly styled dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes -- probably contacts, nobody has eyes that colour. She had a face like an angel. Or at least what the religious outfits tell us an angel's face looks like.

"Are you mistah Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch the pee eye what knows whats he knows?"

Too bad she had a voice that sounded like a hoarse gorilla mimicking a frog. Where the heck was that accent from?

She walked over to my desk in way too many tiny steps -- I think her skirt must have been too tight. She leaned over my desk, her ample bosom heaving. The dame was obviously hot for me. Too bad I was only into other men... coulda been fun.

"Oh, you've just gawt ta help me and my muddah's aunt's roommate's granddottah's husband's cousin's dawg's groomah's brush suppliah's accountant's mistress' bruddah's son PLEASE mistah Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch," her accent breathed impressively -- seriously, that's impressive to say all in one breath.

"Help with what, uh--?"

"You can calls me Bella, and you've gawtta help me and Marlene!"

Marlene seemed to me to be an awfully strange name for the dame's mother's aunt's roommate's granddaughter's husband's cousin's dog's groomer's brush supplier's accountant's mistress' brother's son -- sheesh she's already gawt -- er -- got me doing it.

"Okay, Miss Bella --"

"Oh, it's not Miss..." she corrected me, the way a tomato corrects a naked hamburger. She turned about as red as a tomato, too. It didn't suit her, though.

"Okay, Mrs.--"

"'Fraid nawt."

"Ms.--?" I let out hopefully.

"Sorry, mistah Dirkenhamm--"

"Just call me Al, s'easier," I told her, trying to buy some time on the cheap. Two things are never cheap though... good whiskey and time when you truly need it.

"Okay, Alseazyer," her accent breathed again, "I happen to be bonuh fee-day one hunnert percentagees midwest American boy. An' so's Marlene!"

It clicked. I knew why the dame was here in my office and blocking my airflow. Yes, dame. If you'd lay your peepers on her melons, you'd know she was a she even if she was a he dressed very convincingly like a she that wasn't no he pretending to be a he and was in fact a she instead of being a he like she claimed she was really a he just looking like a she. I don't know why she brought 'em with her, but they were about the same size as the breasts attached quite convincingly (for a she that was really a he that looked like a she) to her chest wall. She and this Marlene were being forced to be chippies!

"Alright, Ma'am--"

"I really do prefuh to be called suh..."

"Sir then. Is your mother's aunt's roommate's granddaughter's husband's cousin's dog's groomer's brush supplier's accountant's mistress' brother's son -- there has to be a better way to say that -- being held prisoner?"

I could see the cash rolling in on this job... a daring overtime breakout taking special equipment purchased with a finder's fee and bought with a discount... maybe she could hold off until the weekend and Thanksgiving for holiday pay --

"No."

"Hah?"

"No, he's -- that is my nephew is -- nawt being held prisonah."

"Your nephew? But why --?

"It's moah fun, Alseazyer, to say it th' long way," she giggled and... bounced at me.

"Then how are you being forced--?" I broke off. I was sitting forward, listening with more ears than a cartoon elephant's pet mouse, it was interesting in spite of me.

"Whoevah said innything about forced?"

I opened my mouth and shut it again.

"Well, I'll take the job, just tell me what I have to do," I finally said, shaking my head as I reached to shake the hand of the dizzy dame.

She grabbed my hand and pumped it for water, and sealed the deal... I'd always prided myself on my word and a handshake being a contract for me.

"Oh, goody! We just gotta get you in the right dress--"

"Say what how who now?"

"What how who now?"

"No, Bella, I mean what do you mean me in a dress?"

"Oh!" her eyes lit up, "You'll be gawjeous! I had hoped when I saw th' ad fer another Professional Impersonatah, you'd be pretty..."

So the she who was a he that only looked to be a she that wasn't no he but a she seemed to have all the wiles of a she that was really a she and not a she that was really a he that just looked like a she that wasn't no he but a she. And I looked down at my hand still shaking hers.

Just another day like any other day in this city. The sun was hiding behind clouds threatening to open up and douse everyone, the city government was made up of hidden agenda jerkfaces, and... the school system was rife with bullying.

Big deal, right? There are real problems that should be focused on, right?

I used to think so. Let me relate what changed my perceptivities. That is so a word. Just because I made it up, doesn't make it not a word. It's just not one of those fancy dictionary words.

The rain, that one doesn't really bother me. I'm a detective-for-hire, a gumshoe, a private dick, a flatfoot, a sleuth, a snoop, a nose that knows, an op, a peeper, a flashjack, a prowl jobbie, a P.I., a shamus, a sherlock, ... and rain is kinda nice for the image. Me, standing on a corner, trenchcoat, rumpled tie, and fedora cocked down low over my forehead, rain dripping off whilst I lean unconcernedly on the lamppost. Adds to my Mystique. Adds a bit to my Nightcrawler, too, but that's another yarn. As for the government, hmph. Everyone who has ever run for any kind of politic office has a hidden agenda, even if it matches up with what they says is their public agenda. It goes with the territory.

It's the bullying what provides the backdrop for our little adventure, this time around.

Oh. I guess, I should introduce myself all proper like, for those who don't know me and mine already. Name's Peabody Aloysius Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch. I go by Al -- I mean, come on. My esteemed parentage admitted to being under the influence of extralegal substances when they was thinking of names for me. Coulda been worse. I coulda been a gal. My name woulda had to been Hortense Arthelda. Anywhat, I'm the P.I. what knows what he knows. That's my slogan, anyways.

I got me an assistant or apprentice, depending on how you decides to be looking at things. Adds a feminine touch to the office, smiles pretty at the potential clients, sharp as a tack even while sitting there all demure and unobtrusively noticing everything, very professional and wears a dress or skirt with heels most days.

His name's Sherman.

I was hired mistakenly by his uncle awhile back, who thought P.I. stood for Professional Impersonator, and come to find out, Sherman wasn't too keen on being part of the act, either. I signed on before I realized what his uncle wanted, really, and when I fulfilled my obligation, Sherman -- or Marlene, if you go by "Uncle Bella" -- asked if I had a job for him. He always wanted to be a private eye. Turns out, he likes looking and acting like a like a dame, but hates being on stage. Hey, he has the gams for it and is a whiz with the warpaint.

It's enough to make your schnoz gout blood, if you give it too much headspace.

So Sherman is sitting at his desk, his getaway sticks crossed all primly whilst he's sliding varnish onto the tips of his mitts, and my office door bangs open. I still gotta get that looked at. But there's a frail standing there this time, looks to be about dead on her pins.

"Come on in, Kitten, have a seat, tell us your troubles," kid couldn't have been more than in high school, and if the coat she was a rack for cost half a sawbuck, I'll eat my hat with a nice avocado glaze.

The relief on her face was there until the pain replaced it when she sat herself down and took a load off. She almost stood right back up, but I sat down opposite and knew that Sherman would be taking notes.

"Get us a coffee, Marlene, and a hot cocoa for Jane," I tossed over my shoulder at him.

"Shoah thing, Mistah Peabody."

His accent wasn't as... broad... as his uncle Bella's, but it could be there when he was annoyed. And he called me Mister Peabody instead of Al when I called him Marlene. Ah, I could handle it. Didn't want to confuse the pint-sized dame too awful much.

"M-muh muh-my name isn't Jane!" was the first thing out of the side dish.

"Sorry, doll, didn't think it was, just calling you that until I get your moniker out of you. Relax a minute or two, won't hurt you none. From your uniform, I'm guessing you go to Our Lady of Whatsit High School?"

"N-nuh nuh-not my uniform, neither. Got beaten up by girls at school and then they sewed me in," she spouts, turning slightly and I can see the stitches keeping her skirt and blouse hitched together so's they can't be taken off without hurting.

Sherman's back with the coffee and cocoa and sets them down before clicking back to his desk and fixing his lipstick before writing down what's been said.

"Sorry, Jane, that this has been done to you, but you have my word we'll stop this kind of thing from happening."

I'm thinking an easy case at last. Go in, get the Principal -- or Father or whatever you call the Priest what serves as Principal at a Catholic school -- to make it stop.

"So, can you tell me what happened so I can get things started?"

The little twist nods, and a tear slides down her cheek, and she says, "Ah-ah ah-all I wanted to do was go home. I didn't wanna buy their stuff in the baggies, I just wanted to go home."

Now my financial brain is kicking in, when I hear drugs is involved. I keep my face sympathetical and nod at her to get her to continue.

"Alright, Jane, so what'd they do?"

"I told you, my name isn't Jane!"

Oops. Don't make the client angry.

"Sorry about that, sweetheart, so what is your name?"

"Walter."