Disclaimer: Hi? Remember me? I haven't written a one-shot in a while. Well, Count Girula was a one-shot… But I've NEVER done something like this… Hopefully you guys'll enjoy it. Just sorta came to me when I was zoning out online. Anyway, usual stuff: if I owned Calvin and Hobbes would I be here right now? (Also, in no way is this supposed to be like Generic Yoda's great fic Tracer Bullet and the Case of the Missing Apples­­- I'm trying to do Tracer Bullet Watterson style. Haven't read the fic mentioned above? Read it! I'm recommending it!) Note before reading this: it kinda is my own twist to Tracer Bullet- so it might be a little more Dannor-style than the other fics in this section.

Miss Wormwood adjusted her glasses on the brim of her nose, pushing her curly gray hair out of her eyes. "Good news, class! We have a pop quiz!" A low groan arose from her first graders. Five more years and then I can watch all the soaps I want to… she thought longingly.

"What's the quiz over?" Susie Derkins asked, raising her hand.

"Science," Miss Wormwood answered, and passed the papers out to the top row of the students. "Just to see if you've been paying attention in class this past week."

"Oh great," Calvin said under his breath. "Why didn't I pay attention? Why? Why?"

"You were drawing," Susie said in a way only a girl could say, "that's why."

"Yeah, but these were important advancements in the artistic world!" Calvin pointed out.

"They were drawings of aliens picking their noses," Susie said point-blank.

They were then forced to adjourn the conversation, as the papers came down to them. Calvin looked down at question one.

In your own words, explain what is occurring between anaphase to telophase.

Calvin gulped and picked up his pencil.

The door of my office opened. Another day, another client. Dame, as usual. I've had this dame several times before- she's the type who always seems to have a case, in more than one place, if you know what I mean. The name's Bullet. Tracer Bullet.

The dame sat down across from me at my desk, her skimpy outfit that only us professional snoops get to see clinging to her legs, obviously sweating in anticipation of talking to me. "Tracer," she told me, "we need to talk."

"Get to work, Calvin!" Miss Wormwood said, rapping her ruler on Calvin's desk.

"Yes, Miss Wormwood."

"About what?" I asked. "We've already talked- your case about Joe and Jack confused me, but I solved it." She grimaced- the Joe and Jack files were not a pretty picture. But then again, most of my cases weren't pretty.

"I've got this problem, Trace," she said, calling me by my hated nickname. "I need to find out what's going on with my company in between the towns of Anaphase and Telophase."

"Don't call me 'Trace,'" I snapped. "But, I'll help if you have the dough I want."

"I'll pay anything to find out what's going on!" the dame pleaded. "Anything!"

"Fifty greenbacks an hour," I said, lighting the tip of a cigarette. "Plus I charge an extra two hundred on the weekends. You still want the case?"

"Of course I do, Tracer! But why the extra two hundred? Why not for old times sake?"

Now, you have to understand, when this dame wanted her way, she got it. What other choice did I have?

"Calvin!" Miss Wormwood snapped again. "If you don't get to work, I'll lower your grade to a D-minus!"

"If you want the extra two hundred," she said, putting her red lipstick on, non-coincidently called Dangerous Fire Red, "you'll have to pay in another way? Get the picture."

"All right," I said, leaning back in my chair as smoke encircled my head. "No extra cost on the weekends. I'll take the case."

                                                               ***

I stepped out of my office, escorting the dame to her taxi.

"Remember, Trace, you won't want to pay in another way," she said threateningly, and then her taxi sped away.

Of course I'll remember. I'll remember just as fondly as I remember my parole officer. Pulling my trench coat around me tightly, I walked off to the nearest train station to find out just where Prophase was.

"Miss Wormwood?" Calvin raised his hand. "May I go to the bathroom?"

"All right," the elderly teacher sighed. "Just hurry back."

The local train station wasn't too fond of having me snooping around in their records, but it's a dirty job that I have to do.

While I was "rummaging," a goon from the shadows lunged out at me from behind. He packed a wallop in his fists, but my .38 packed a bigger one. After several wallops, the goon was down.

"Calvin, what are you doing?" Mr. Spittle, the principal at Calvin's school, asked quizzically when he entered the Staff Supplies Room.

"Ah!" Calvin said, grinning, "Mr. Spittle! How… nice of you to drop by…"

"Why are you going through Miss Wormwood's test answer keys?" Mr. Spittle asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Erm… no reason?" Calvin said, quietly folding the answer key to the test he was taking, sticking it in his pocket.

"What's that?"

Suddenly, in the way that only a private eye gets to see, about half a dozen of the lunks surrounded me. And I was out of ammo. This was not good.

Mr. Spittle sighed and pushed Calvin lightly on the back, taking the paper out of Calvin's pocket. He read it, and a faint frown line appeared on his forehead. "We're going to see Miss Wormwood about this, Calvin…"

My ears rang like I was standing next to an amplifier for the world's biggest rock band at a Fourth of July concert. The ring leader of the goons, some fat hairy man, was dragging me by the scruff of my neck. I resisted as much as I could, but the lunk hit me over the head and I blacked out.

"Calvin! Quit! Struggling!" Mr. Spittle said irritably, as Calvin struggled against his grip on him.

"No! I must escape!"

This job gets harder every year… Mr. Spittle thought as he dragged Calvin by the scruff of his shirt to the door with WORMWOOD engraved on a plaque.

He rapped on the door, and Miss Wormwood opened it. When she saw Calvin, she sighed. With a pained look, she muttered, "Five years until retirement… five years until retirement."

"Miss Wormwood, I caught Calvin here rummaging through your test answer keys. I'll leave him with you to deal with," Mr. Spittle said in a would-be sardonic voice, had this not occurred more than once.

Miss Wormwood sighed and shut the door. "We are going to have a talk, Calvin…"

After a brutal interrogation, I escaped from the clutches of the dame who had hired me in the first place. I solved the case, but I felt no need to divulge the information.

"Time!" Miss Wormwood said ten minutes after Calvin returned and was forced to finish his test. "Please pass your papers forward."

When Calvin passed his paper to Susie, she looked down at the paper. "You didn't fill out your paper, Calvin," she said, her eyes flicking from left to right as she read the unanswered questions.

"As the dame is no longer my client, I don't need to divulge the information," Calvin said simply. Susie rolled her eyes.

Case closed!