Frank Fishbone P.I.

Frankly, my dear....

Where were we? Oh yeah, I'm on a cat chase and my contact's making up his mind. All the signs of being a long day. So the phone rings that evening just as I'm spraying the Glade around the kitchen. (I'll leave the gunge in the pan for when I'm feeling more energetic.)

"Yeah?" I say. I love this work. You're expected to be laconic for chrissakes.

"I've thought about it, and I suppose you really should come in for 50 - 50" he admits. So, looks like I'm on the case.

Turns out there's been no contact from my man to his future benefactor, so I have a clear run. We agree that he'll butt out of the deal and leave me to set the operation up. I call the cat owner and tell her to look for her own damned moggy, and I'll just take out my exes so far and refund the rest. Now for some real work. I make a few calls and send an email or two.

Here's the documentation so far