Hardboiled Stories

I saw her enter the office as if through a cloud of smoke. She moved towards my desk, a vague spectral figure in burgundy, her heels clicking against the cheap tiles, and I decided it was probably best to extinguish my cigarette. The smoke dissipated. “These things will kill you,” she said, her lush voice somehow familiar. She was very short, but her cold blue eyes held authority. She had the austere, wavy hairstyle of a...

The name’s Chase. Franklin Roosevelt Chase. I’m a private Dick in Pratchett or Fairyville as the locals call it. It’s not a profession for someone who’s averse to getting a little dirt on them. Suits me perfectly. It doesn’t pay well, but it puts enough change in my pocket to keep my vices going; drinking to excess, losing at cards, and pissing off good looking dames. Today I was on a roll. Not even happy hour and already...