Day 1

The name’s Chuckles. That’s Mr Chuckles to you. For seven years now I’ve been working these streets. That’s long enough to make a name for yourself. I’d scraped enough money to rent myself an office. Nothing fancy, just a chair, a desk, a disconnected phone, a bottle of Old Penguin and a .45 with a hair trigger. I mainly worked cases for Circus folk that were down on their luck and up to their trapezes in debt. Not the kind of debt where you get letters with red words on the front either. I’m talking about the kind of debt that can only be settled with a baseball bat to the stilts.