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The sign said Los Angeles city limits. “The city of angels", where in the hell did they get that load of crap? I always thought that until that night in January when she walked into my office, Dirk Bogart Private Investigator, of all the places on earth.

  What a dish, I can tell you. Angela Divine was her name, a walking apparition from heaven, reincarnated in human form. Long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, a figure to die for with legs that seemed like they went on forever.

  I was sitting behind my desk smoking a cig, blowing smoke rings in the air and poking my finger through them. I had spent the last two hours tossing rumpled up paper at a trash can, and doodling aimlessly on an appointment calendar, that occupied the top of my otherwise empty desk. I don't want to say business was slow, but slow would be an improvement, over nonexistent, which was the real state of my affairs.

  "Hello, my name is Angela Divine," she said in the sweetest voice I ever heard. "I'm in trouble and I need the help of a good private eye, but I'm afraid I don't have much money."

  "If you're in trouble, why not go to the cops instead of a private dick," I inquired.

  "I'm mixed up in an affair I really don't want the police involved in. I don't want my husband to find out either or I'm a dead woman," she explained.

  I told her I couldn't make any guarantees but tell me the whole story and I would decide at the end if I could take on her case.

  She began her story... “It all started very innocently, I never intended to get involved with him, but you know some things just happen. I was having a martini dry at a little place up in the Valley, when he walked in the joint. Lance O’Brien was his name, a tall drink of water and as handsome as they come, and he knew it. Curly brown hair, cold blue eyes and a chiseled physique, he strolled across the room

  and ordered a scotch on the rocks from the bartender. Every lady in the place had their eyes glued on him, as he leaned on the bar, sipping his highball.”

  “For some reason or other, he ignored all the other ladies in the bar. He made a bee line straight over to my table, and asked if he could join me, and buy me a drink. I knew I shouldn’t, but he was very handsome, and I was very lonely, so I asked him to join me. He introduced himself, and I told him my name. We started a conversation that would lead to the bizarre story that followed.”

  “He said, lets blow this joint doll face, I know a place we can have a private drink, and talk all night, without all these people listening. We ended up at his place, and talked for hours. I'll have to admit, at one point we did more than talk. This whole thing had gotten way out of control, and way too fast.”

  “The next day we went to his office, he said he was an accountant. I believed him, why shouldn't I. He decided out of the blue, to take the whole day off. He said" let's get a blanket and have a picnic lunch at Echo Park. It was a beautiful day in California ,so I reluctantly agreed, wondering all the time what the hell I was going to tell my husband to explain where I had been all night.”

  “We arrived at the park and started our picnic and we were having a wonderful time. I know I just met the guy, but I think I was falling for him. We were drinking red wine and eating cheese and crackers, and talking about should we see each other again He suddenly said, sweet heart , I've got to pee something fierce and he left to find a private bush to take care of his business. But he never came back. I looked all over the park, but he had simply vanished.”

  “I went to his house and it was vacant like no one had lived there for months. I went to his office and the people there said they didn't know him and had never heard of him. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth”.

  "That's my story Mr. Bogart, can you help me? I’ve got to find him. Please say you'll help me," she pleaded.

  Her story was so compelling and she was so beautiful, against my better judgment I agreed. I would live to regret that decision I can tell you.

  I really needed the money, at least that's what I kept reminding myself, but I had a funny feeling about this case from the beginning. I’m not going to say I didn’t buy her story, as well as she told it, but something didn’t add up right from the beginning.

  I, as all great detectives do, went to the scene of the crime to sniff around and see if I could locate anyone who had seen the two together. I must have talked to a hundred people, but without any luck.I went to the home address she gave me, and again hit a wall. No one in the neighborhood had ever seen or heard of a Lance O’Brien. The house was boarded up like no one had lived there for years. I should have given up right there and then but I was getting paid so I continued on my quest.

  I went to the work address that she gave me with the same result. Something wasn’t adding up. And another weird thing was I felt like I was being tailed. You know the paranoid feeling that you have that someone is watching you, but you don’t see anyone. That’s the feeling I had.

  I even got so desperate; I looked in the phone book to see if there was a listening for this Lance O’Brien character. Nope, I couldn’t be that lucky.

  I finally came to the conclusion; this whole thing was a hoax. “Cherchez la femme”, look for the woman, that’s what I needed to do. “Yeah, the girl was the key”, that’s where I could find out the truth about Angela Divine.

  I decided to do some poking around and see what kind of dirt I could dig up. I still had a few friends left down at the L.A. cop shop, from my copper days. Little did Angela know, I had a glass in my possession, with a perfect set of her prints. I hoped they would be a match. The boys at the lab already had them and I had my fingers crossed.

  I spent the rest of the night in my dingy, one room flat playing solitaire. I didn’t have much better luck than I was having with this case. I woke up around seven to the telephone’s ring in a pool of drool. I wiped my mouth and picked up the receiver of the black combination.

  Hello, this is Dirk Bogart, private investigations, may I help you?”

  The voice at the other end said, “Hello, asshole this is Detective Horn, L.A.P.D.”

  I said, “excuse the hell out of me, why you calling me so early?”

  He described a few things I could do to myself and then we went on from there.

  Detective Horn said he had found out who Angela Divine really was and I wasn’t going to believe it. I said I could believe quite a bit and go on with his cockamamie story. He told me to stick it where the sun didn’t shine and I said something rude about his mother.

  “We can do this crap all morning, please tell me who Angela is, coppice?” I said finally.

  “Okay, okay, keep your shirt on Bogart,” he said a little more serious now.

  What he told me, I could hardly believe.

  Turned out she was actually a skirt named Maria Demucci. She was an ex-stripper and was married to a mob hit man, a made one at that. I knew I had a bad feeling about this case, now I understood why. But, I still was hell bound to find out what was going on with this dame. Why did she have me running around town chasing a ghost?

  I asked Horn if he had an address and he said he did. 16657 Sunset Lane, Los Angeles was in a neighborhood you wouldn’t expect a hit man to be living. There were plenty of big trees for shade and white picket fences to keep prying neighbors out of your business. Some kids were playing stick ball in the street as I pulled up to the house to take a look.

  It was almost dark, when I parked for a hot second to see if there was any activity around the house. I saw the place was quiet. I pulled around the block and parked a ways down the street so as not to be noticed. I settled down to do some real flat foot work, the stakeout.

  I was just taking a bite of a stale donut, and a sip of equally stale coffee, when the front door opened. Out came the one and only Vinnie “the Pick” Demucci. You notice I said “pick” and not “prick” even though I have no doubt he probably was one. I recognized his face from some old mug shots, I saw a few years back. He got the nickname from his choice of murder weapon, the ice pick. He liked to get up close and personal with his victims. Th
is guy was a real sweetheart with a face that would stop a clock. And here I was tailing his beloved wife, what the hell was I thinking.

  So the "Pick” comes out of the house and gets into a red “51 Caddy and peels out of the driveway like he was shot out of cannon. I ducked down to make sure he didn’t see me as he drove by. Just the sight of him scared the crap out of me. Now all that was left was to wait until our fair lady made her move.

  Sure enough, thirty minutes later almost on the dot, she come gliding out of the front door. She was still a vision of loveliness, dressed in a white evening gown and high, oh so high, heels. She was all dolled up for somebody and I had a feeling it wasn’t for the "Pick”, at least not that night.

  Maria opened the door and slid across the smooth silky seat of her canary yellow ’51 Ford Coupe. She was Cinderella, entering the portal of her waiting carriage in route to the masquerade ball. I never thought I wanted to be a car seat before, but I was wishing I was hers that night let me tell you.

  She cranked up, engaged the clutch, backed out of her driveway and headed down the street. The kids that were playing stick ball earlier had all been called to supper. The streets were virtually quiet.

  I watched her drive a half block down the street. I started the engine of my old Chevy and eased in behind her. I kept my lights off until we got out of the neighborhood and were safely on Main Street. She was looking in her rear view mirror as if she thought some one was following her. But why did she think someone was following her? What was she up to was the big question. And where the hell was she going dressed up in her Sunday’s best? I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.

  She drove for what seemed like an hour, weaving in and out of traffic. We ended up at this fancy restaurant somewhere just beyond the city limits. The joint was the kind of place you usually wouldn’t find an ex-stripper, much less the wife of a mob hit man.

  It was an upscale, ritzy-tizzy, valet parking, high brow, upper crust establishment, where a bunch of stuffed shirts, and their snooty wives, paraded back and forth, with a look on their faces like they owned the world. The place gave me the willies.I watched her enter the joint, get escorted to a booth, and seated along side a handsome gentleman in a tux. Maybe they were going to the ball.

  He wined and dined her for an hour or so, and then the big band kicked off. They danced until two in the morning. I finished up the rest of the stale donuts and my thermos of now cold coffee.

  Finally, they decided to blow the joint, thank God. We were back on the road again. I kept a close, but loose tail on the two love birds. I followed them to a swank residence in Bellaire. The black Lincoln they were riding in pulled into a long driveway and I could see them stop and get out of the car. I pulled across the street and took up a good vantage point. The property was lit up like a Christmas tree and with my binoculars I could see inside the living room of the house. Maria and the gentleman were in a compromising position to say the least. The clothes started to come off and I was engrossed in the moment.

  All of a sudden a car screeched to a halt, turned into the driveway, and parked behind the black Lincoln. I recognized the car immediately as Vinnie the "Pick’s” Caddy. “The Pick” and two other thugs jumped out of the car and before I knew it, they were inside the house.

  Needless to say, somebody was going to die tonight, but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be Vinnie and his buddies Vinnie grabbed Maria by the hair and smacked her hard across the face. She fell like a sack of potatoes on the floor. The gentleman, begged for his life, but it just wasn’t going to happen. Vinnie thrust an ice pick deep into the man’s heart, he dropped like a stone twitching. Blood squirted out of his chest for a few seconds, and then stopped.

  Vinnie grabbed Maria and started dragging her out of the house by her arm. The other two goons rolled up the gentleman in a rug and along with Vinnie and Maria headed out the door to Vinnie’s caddy.

  I don’t know what happened, but seemingly right on cue, as they were loading the body in the trunk, they all turned and looked across the street at me. Damn, I was caught. I guess you could say I panicked. I started up the engine and took off like a bat out of hell, banging into a couple of park cars, as I careened down street in fear of my life. Of course as you might have guessed, they all jumped in the Caddy, and we became involved in a high speed car chase from hell.

  My Chevy was old and not really up to the challenge, but I was holding my on for a minute. Luckily, it was three in the morning and there was very little traffic. I took a hard right, and turned down an alley. I thought for a second I had lost them. Unfortunately, it was a dead end, so I had to turn around in a hurry. As I was turning the Caddy came up to block me. I reversed again, tires screeching and managed to get out of the alley somehow. They were on me in no time flat.I found myself on a long straight away, which was good; however they were gaining on me by the second. I tried to negotiate an extremely hard left and my Chevy rolled on me, engine bursting into flames. Oh great, I was stuck. Vinnie and the two goons were now pulled up next to me and out of their car heading towards me. I could see the glint of a couple of revolvers as they approached. I thought my goose was cooked but well this time.

  I’ll have to admit here, I got a little religion. I said a little prayer, for my wretched, sinful, and wasted life. And I’ll be damned if my prayers weren’t answered, praise the Lord.

  From out of no where, as if from some crazy dream, two police cars, sirens blasting came roaring up. Thank God, for the L.A. P. D.

  They took the trio of wise guys into custody and finally pried me out of my Chevy, just before it finally blew up.

  But, I still had one problem. Vinnie knew I had seen him murder the gentleman in the tux. So, I was a dead man walking. Well maybe that was a little over dramatic, but needless to say I had a slight problem.

  I was put into the witness protection program at an undisclosed location. I was going to testify against Vinnie the "Pick”, if I lived that long. After the trial I guess I’ll be in the relocation program, picking potatoes in Idaho or some place equally obscure.

  I really liked being a private eye; I guess it was my fault. I knew from the minute Angela or Maria walked in the office, I shouldn’t take the case. But, I ‘m a sap for a gorgeous face and a beautiful set of legs. I guess all along she used me as a decoy. While her husband was following me, she was free to come and go as she pleased. When I followed her, I led Vinnie to her love nest, and caused an innocent man to be killed. Maybe I shouldn’t be in the private eye business after all. But I sure liked it.

  Rude Awakening