[Rock Lobster]

It was a typical Tuesday night. The neon sign that Turcic had put outside my window was flashing a sickly red glare on the floor of my office. It really didn't say anything but "Rent Now Due," but it did serve the purpose of not letting me rappel down the side of the building to avoid getting asked for rent. Some landlords are just difficult to deal with.

As usual, the cash drawer in my desk more resembled a cemetery for paperclips and wads of bills with "No such address" stamped on the envelopes. It had been a bad month. As most months are. Every now and then, I wonder if I made the right decision in leaving particle physics to take up my dream of being a gumshoe. As things were going, I was probably going to be eating said shoe, pretty soon.

I was just settling in for the night on my rickey couch when I heard the sound of Red's target practice wafting down the hall. I smiled and rolled over. I had been sharing the hall with Red for so long that the sound of gunfire was starting to be comforting. Pulling my fedora over my eyes to block out the too subtle flashing light, I tried to drift off to sleep.

Maybe there will be a new case tomorrow. Maybe one that actually pays.

Suddenly, I jerked awake and shot off the couch like a squirrel being chased by a Lab. Red didn't practice at night! He only was in this late when he had a case going and he needed to make calls to some forsaken place like Noosa Head. And, come to think of it, that was the sound of two guns popping off, not the usual .22 that Red favored.

I grabbed my fedora from the floor and placed in on my head at a rakish angle (since, being a detective, I had to keep the style going) and reviewed my options. There weren't many.

The window was, for all intents and purposes, screwed shut by the mounting bracket of a neon sign that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with me. Red's doorway was between me and the fire escape, shish worked most of the time. That left only the front stairwell, with it's inevitable discussion with Mr Turcic about past due rent and heating tab. I was trapped like a rat in a cheese factory.

Well, there was nothing for it. I eased the door open and crept silently down the hall towards Red's door. Silently, that is, except for the damned cat that I can never avoid tripping over. I think he does it on purpose. So, after the squalling ended, I continued silently.

Outside Red's door, I listened. The gunfire had stopped. I could make out two voices but could not hear the conversation. They seemed to be arguing. I was about to slink down the hall to the fire escape, when another shot rang out and a neat little hole appeared in the glass of the door. The bullet missed my noggin by a hair's breadth. I was glad I had gotten a haircut that morning.

A dark shape appeared behind the frosted glass and the door began to swing open.