Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean.

"Are you Bart Lasiter, den?" she asked, in a voice high enough that dogs across the bridge could hear her. "I'm Sugar Bazooms, and my man is in a heap 'a trouble, if you know what I mean, Mistah Lasiter. He's down at the docks right now ready to do something awful to a very, very bad man...."

Lasiter snorted, sending cigarette smoke swirling around his head like knockout drops into whiskey.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I know better than to mess with Mickey Knuckles. He's the king of the world, as far as I know -- in this town, at least. I get mixed up with him, next thing I know his goon squad's got me tied up in the back car, and they ain't taking me on a Sunday school picnic. No thanks, Miss Bazooms. I've tangled with Mickey one time too many already, and I'm lucky I'm here to mention it. Find another dick to do your dirty work."

Sugar made a pouting face. Lasiter mirrored it back unsympathetically. "Well, I have something that might cause you to reconsida," she squeaked, sounding like a miffed mouse who got there too late for the cheese, but wouldn't settle for crumbs.

Lasiter watched her reach into the cleavage of her red dress and fish around. He wouldn't have minded fishing those waters himself, but he wasn't fool enough to think he'd catch anything. This dame was already hooked. And reeled in almost all the way, if she was willing to stand up to Knuckles.

Sugar pulled a matchbook-sized folded piece of paper from her bosom, handing it across the desk to Lasiter. "Think this might change your mind?" she asked.

Lasiter unfolded the makeshift envelope and a tiny picture flickered out, spinning a few times and landing in the ashes on his desk. He stared at it like he was reading his own obituary.

"She was my roommate," Sugar said. "We sold cigarettes and candy together at the Granite City Arena. I happen to know she's still in love with you -- and I know where to find her."

Lasiter stood up. "You aren't quite as sweet as your name might suggest, are you, Miss Sugar?" he said, grabbing his hat and holster. "Let's get going, then." Sugar knew his weak spot: Black-haired Molly Brennan. Sure, he'd had his head turned a couple times, and probably drank too much and worked too little. But by the sound of it, she might be willing to take him back. And he wasn't going to lose her a second time.

They exited into the night. It was hot, steamy, and wet-the kind of night where all clothes should be optional. Sugar led the way, her red dress clinging to a heart shaped ass that Lasiter couldn't pull his eyes from. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she headed for her car. "No", said Lasiter. "We'll take mine."
He headed across the street to a sleek black form parked under a street light. It was a '67 Camaro, in perfect shape, midnight black with a shine a mile deep. Lasiter opened the door for Sugar, noting her long legs and the top of her thigh high stocking. "Sweet mercy!" he thought to himself. As if the night wasn't steamy enough. He slid in behind the wheel, turned the key, and the 350 engine purred to life.

Psst, redvixen -- any chance it could be a 1936 Graham SuperCharger? Just for the period flair?

Lasiter sat at the wheel and was halfway to the docks before reason kicked in. "Mickey Knuckles? Mickey Knuckles? Why can't a dame this stacked come in lookin' for her lost library card or sumpin'?"

The night was damp, and the docks slick as Lasiter drove up behind the warehouses. He could feel Sugar's breath beside him as she smoothed down her dress. "I really appreciate your concoin Mistah Lasitah. If anything happens to the Champ out there, I don't know what I'm going to do.."

*But Miko, he has a super burrito on his desk, so I thought the time was current. Like your idea better, though.*

*Oh, and am I the only one who can see and hear Sugar like the blonde in "Little Shop of Horrors"?*

"Not like I can see and hear Sugar, but sure..."

*I was going to try to let the burrito slide, but it is kind of a problem. Maybe we can make it a ham-and-cheese sandwich*

To Be Continued....

*miko, I agree, as I rather prefer fedora hats, overcoats, and seamed stockings in the scene in my head. So it's ham and cheese then. Where is everyone? This could have been really good...*

Tune in next week, same time, same channel.