I was going over another case, one about a missing boy. Jim, or that's what I thought his name was. Anyway Jim disappeared, and his mother was wailing to anyone willing to listen. There was a few of those in Gotham. Sad thing is, everyone was busy with more challenging plate-loads.

And I hated to admit it, but I was in the same boat. I was just about to toss the file in the bin, ready to erase another's kid's death, when the mother walked in. Everything was done by telegraph, so I popped my bubble when she strutted through my doors.

Long legs vanished into a black an' sleek dress, the kind that looked like it was gonna explode if the wearer took another breath. And I wouldn't have minded if it did.

"Are you H. Quinzel? The private inspector?"

Her voice was like heated caramel, rippling silk and toothsome. But if you weren't careful, it'll melt your face straight off. I gulped.

Screw it, that wad had lost its flavour anyways...

"I am."

"I'm Ivy. I sent you that case about Jim, he's my son." She made her way over to one of my chairs, and plopped her shapely rear right on it. She didn't seem to mind the shithole I worked in, or the ratty suit I wore. Stained with cups of coffee, and sweat from late nights in the blistering heat.

My nose began to itch as she crossed her legs, the fabric of her dress hiking with the movement. Fetching another piece of gum from my desk, I offered the packet in her direction. With a raised brow, she shook her head. Figures.

That smooth skin of hers was tinted green, I wouldn't be surprised if it was because of the money she had. A classy dame like that was sure to have a sugar daddy somewhere, and she reeked of it.

"I know who he is."

"Good, then we have less to talk about. Are you taking up the case?"

Probably be better to be straightforward.

"Nah. I've got betta' things to do." I made a point of stretching my legs out, resting my kicks on my crummy desk. Just like everything else in my office, it smelt of guns, baby powder, and cotton candy. My favourite combination.

Ivy stood up, "Look here, Quinzel. My son's out there missing and I need him found, plus I'm willing to make it worth your while."

Any train of thought was gone when she sauntered over, soft bits emphasized until my mouth watered. Leaning over my desk, she reached a petite and green hand towards my face. I was half tempted to grab the pistol in my jacket, when she brushed a few stray hairs that escaped my bun.

"Please."

Well ain't I a big softy for the manipulative type, or is it the green eyes? I stared long and hard into 'em, I couldn't help but think of a darker set. The one's that belonged to my rough handling daddy, and my heart just gave out.

"Look, Red. I'll help, but I at least need a photo."

Huffing, she pulled away. Seconds later, she was reaching into the cherry red purse she shouldered. A small piece of paper was withdrawn, nicely folded and all.

I was eager to grab it from the sweet talking red-head, and better yet, open it. That's when I finally got a good look at Jim. And boy did he take after his mother. "What is he?"

"Datura stramonium. Or as he's better known as, Jimsonweed. Part of the Nightshade Family, he's violently toxic." She crooned, just like a proud mama hen.

"Cute. Why take him then?"

She shrugged, and I suddenly found myself wanting to kiss the cold out of her. But the thorns she had were going to be problematic.

"They're idiots. People once smoked the leaves, but only because they thought it was a antispasmodic for asthma."

"Hm, don't worry, Red." I passed the photo of the flower back to her, "I'll find your son."

And I did. Some old lady three blocks over, unknowingly picked up Jim from the local herbalist. She didn't even realize that Ivy and her switched plants, but the harm was done. After rescuing the little guy, Ivy and I broke a few of the hag's windows. That, and we stole a plate of freshly made cookies. Then we drove off into the sunset, munching away as we went.