AN: Thanks so much to Mayalala and Captain Crunk for looking this one over! You guys rock!
There were six things Julius Pepperwood loved.
Deep-dish pizza was one. He was from Chicago, after all. Thin-crust pizza? No thank you. He was from Chicago.
"Two slices with mushrooms and pepperoni, and make it snappy!" he ordered. He had an office to get back to, cases to solve, an assistant to keep out of trouble.
Luigi's was a hole in the wall, a joint frequented by lowlifes and snitches, who sat at wobbly tables and traded in contraband they'd hide in the exposed chair stuffing, but it had the best food in town. Pepperwood would come here when he was hungry or when he needed insider information on his latest case. Often these things happened at the same time.
The other five things Pepperwood loved, oddly enough, had to do with Luigi's as well:
* Beer: Served in cheap paper cups that leaked if you waited too long to finish your drink.
* Peanut butter cookies: In a display on the counter. Luigi's grandma made them in her kitchen upstairs, when she wasn't yelling at the stray cats in the back alley.
* The Bears: Okay, that was a stretch, but like any good fan, Luigi had decorated the walls with team pennants and a photo of him and Red Grange the time he showed up for a slice.
* Windchimes: What? He was a sensitive guy. This particular set was hanging by the open door, tinkling in the breeze. Luigi's Pa had made them out of the broken glass the time the storefront got demolished in a gangster fight. If you looked closely you could still see bloodstains on some of the shinier bits.
The last thing he loved that had to do with Luigi's was the time he'd taken his assistant there and flirted with her all night. Jessica Knight had a hell of a smile; it lit up her face and made her big baby blues glow like the fog lights on his Chrysler. What? He was a man. He could appreciate a beautiful dame like her.
He paid for his pizza, a beer and a cookie, and upon reflection bought another cookie to bring back for Ms. Knight. He sat at his favorite table and listened to the windchimes while he read the sports pages and ate his lunch. The Bears were going to make a comeback. He could feel it.
There was not much more to tell about Julius Pepperwood. He was a simple guy from Chicago, after all. So that was the whole ball of wax. Or was it yarn? He never remembered how that expression went. What? He was a detective, not an English teacher. If he wanted to know how to write he'd go back to the school where he'd once investigated the psycho plumber... but that was a story for another time.
The end.