The PI racket is as unforgiving as a jilted lover, the kind that holds a grudge. It hardly seems fair, while other guys are out hugging their dolls and paintin’ the town, I’m stuck sitting in a dingy office above Leber's Delicatessen hugging a bottle of bourbon. But then, what am I talking about? Fair? The only kind of fair I know has rigged games and overpriced cotton candy.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I guess you might even say I've got it pretty good. After all, no nine to five has gotten its meat hooks into me yet, though being the only Jewish shamus in New York has its drawbacks. It seems the Irish have the gumshoe business sewn up in the Big Apple, but I still get my slice of the pie. So why complain, right?