I was beating the pants off of Nell at poker, as usual, when she walked in. She was some hot tomato, with stilts up to here and a mug that would have put Helen of Troy to shame. I took one look at this dame and suddenly started to feel real self-conscious.

“You’re very pretty,” Nell said, but from the acid in her voice, I could tell it wasn’t a compliment.

“Thanks,” The tomato replied, smiling. “Could one of you girls be a dear and go and fetch your daddy? I’ve got business to discuss.”

I laughed. “Looking to hire a private dick, are you?”

The tomato turned up her nose at me. I guess she wasn’t in the mood to answer to a couple of kids. “That’s right, sugar. Now go get your papa…”

“What’s the name on the door?” I asked, smiling sweetly. The dame glanced at the door, then back at me, a surprised look on her mush.

“That’s right, sugar,” I said. “I’m Stella Starr. And I’m your dick.”

“But you’re just a girl!”

“So are you. I’ll try not to hold that against you, though. So, what can I help you with?”