Before we drove over to interview the little old snoop for a neighbor lady, I wanted to talk to someone. Someone whom I thought might give us some inside information concerning our dead attorney. There was no attorney in this city who knew more about the dirt and inside dealings of his fellow attorneys than a shyster lawyer by the name of Vincent Getts. Getts was a little porky pig of a man who really loved his food and fine wines. His bowling-ball-shaped torso came in around three hundred plus pounds. He was going bald, a trait he detested, and was in constant search for the right hairpiece to cover up his amazingly shiny dome. Of which he was never successful at finding one, by the way. His clientele usually contained a large dosage of the small and mid-level hoodlums of the city. Hoods
