It's a dark day today. The kind of day when the crime rate is higher than the birth rate. My name, if you're illiterate, is Tracer Bullet. If you're not, go back outside and read my sign. On a day like today, I can find solace with my two buddies. One keeps me warm. He's a smooth talker, and all his remarks go down easy with me. The other rips the warmth out of anything alive. He speaks with a staccato rhythm, sharp and to the point. He's usually monosyllabic, but can say more when he has to. He knows what he wants.
This dame comes in. It's the same one who brings me all my cases. I don't know why I take them so often. Most of the time she doesn't pay me very well; usually it's tens, twenties, and thirties. Somehow I sense she isn't too pleased with my work, because it's not what she was looking for. In this job there are many disappointments. I've tried to tell her that before, but it didn't wash too well with her, so since then I've learned to keep my mouth shut and leave the open part to my eyes.
Well, anyway, she stands there, casting a long shadow on my desk, and says to me, "I've got a project for you. It'll take research." Research. I like that. So she wants me to open a cold case. I tell her it won't be easy, and it'll cost her heavily. She says I'll have to take what I can get. She may have a point. I sit back and flick the soot out of my cigar, and tell her I'll take the job, only she has to tell me what it is. I can't figure out everything on my own. "I want you to report back to me on the answer to this question; who was Christopher Columbus?" With those words, I got a little wary of her mental capacity. Either he didn't know who he was or she didn't. This Christopher must be an amnesiac or something. I had an idea of where to go to find him. But it would take some walking.
I made my way over to an old house. Many think that people look like their pets. The tenant of this house looked much like it did; unkempt, ugly, frightening, and disheveled. Then again, she was a dog, too, so I suppose the former is correct as well. The name? Derkins. Another female. Not as important as the other woman, but still, a source of ready information. When she was willing, that was. Occasionally, you could get her to squeal, but it involved a lot of work, which I don't feel comfortable talking about. And the thing was, she was usually right. I don't know why; I guessed she had help. I refuse to believe she just happens to be bright.
I knocked on the door. After two minutes, she opened. I casually asked her if I might come in. She said no, I could ask her out here. I relented and asked her, point-blank, if she knew anything a bout this Columbus dude.