17The sleet came down harder as I walked back to my office, but I didn't mind. It was lunchtime, but I wasn't hungry. I was in big trouble with the police. And let's not forget the Black Llama. Funny how problems can make you forget about food and sleet and such things.
I didn't feel like answering any nosey questions that Joe the elevator man was bound to ask, so I climbed the eight flights of stairs to the office, which I often did in any case. I looked at the sign on my office door, “d***s DeWitt: Private Investigator,” and wondered how long it would be up there before I lost my job or my life and the scumbag landlord found a new tenant.
“Mr. D, you're back so soon!”
Nothing like an understanding secretary to cheer one up. “Yeah, I was getting tired of the java, and besides, it wasn'
