The name is Wrigley, Midge Wrigley, private investigator extraordinaire. I'd had a phone call. Late afternoon. It was the anonymous type. The guy sounded

desperate. He said someone was trying to kill him. I was to meet him at midnight under the white cliffs by the grey rock near the blue lagoon. But on a moonless night in thick fog none of those colour combinations were of much use.

To make matters worse it was raining. The wet type that falls on your head. Out of the darkness someone was walking towards me. It was a woman in a

raincoat. She was wearing a headscarf that flapped in the wind. Beside her was a dog. It snapped at my trouser legs.

"Mame, could you get your dog off my trousers?"

She clapped her hands and the dog let go my trousers. Before I could thank her she was gone, dog and all, into the fog. What remained was the alluring

aroma of her perfume.

I switched on my torch. The beam bathed the darkness. It jerked around as though it had a life of its own. It came to rest on a dead crab, seaweed, a coke can and, over by the lagoon, a body floating face down in the water. A stiff under a cliff. I edged closer. I could see a long bladed knife sticking out of the body's back. Then another. Six knives in all, neatly arranged in a tight circle. Tidy and symmetrical. I called out.

"Hey, how are y' doing, buddy?"

My suspicions were confirmed. The goon in the lagoon on a night with no moon was dead.

I called the cops on my cell phone. Within the hour Big Harry arrived from the PDPD. Squad cars with sirens. Like in some cop movie.

"So, Big Harry, what do y' think?"

"What am I supposed to think? A stiff rubs himself out. Another suicide."

Big Harry was big on suicides. It saved paper and unnecessary detective work.

"How can you call this suicide, Big Harry? Six knives in his back would indicate something other than suicide," I said.

"Hey, Wrigley, leave the detective work to the real cops."

Big Harry turned to a group of cops huddled at the edge of the water.

"Toss the stiff in the body bag, boys. And be quick about it. I wanna catch the last quarter of the ball game."

I took time out for reflection. The anonymous caller had sounded afraid, in fear for his life. I had no doubt that the stiff in the plastic bag had made that call. So, who was he? Who had killed him and why?

"Hey, Harry, got room for me?"

"In the body bag or in the car?" said Big Harry with a laugh. Big Harry was all heart.

The next day I went to the morgue with Big Harry to get an ID on the stiff.

"What's the cause of death, Doc?" I asked.

"It is difficult to say," said the doctor.

"There are six knives in his back, but you're saying it's difficult to say what caused his death?"

The guy had to have a sense of humour.

"Never accept the obvious, young man," said the doctor.

Obviously he didn't have any humour. Big Harry was standing nearby handling some documents.

"His driving license says he's Jack Pollard. Forty-three years old.

Occupation...ÃÂÃÂ¦lion tamer," said Big Harry.

"Lion tamer?" I said.

"Yeah. No wonder he committed suicide," said Big Harry.

I went back to the office to think about Jack Pollard, the now very deceased lion tamer. Although he was dead I owed it to my client to find out what had happened to him and why.

A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts.

It was Delores, the delicious redhead who lived in one of the apartments below my office. We'd been slowly getting to know each other.

"What can I do for y', baby?"

"Stop calling me baby for a start, jug ears."

Jug ears was her pet name for me.

"OK, what can I do for y', honey pie?"

"Stop calling me...never mind. Got any coins for the gas meter. I'm out of dimes?"

I handed her some coins.

I was just about to ask Delores for a date...when...The door slammed and she was gone. Maybe next time. I could tell she was hot for me.

The night was still young so I decided to go over to Sam's Place. Sam's Place was a bar with no atmosphere, no customers and no heating. Sam was behind the bar dressed in a large Eskimo jacket. It was that cold.

"Hi, Midge, how's things?" said Sam.

"Just great, Sam, just great."

What could I tell him? That my only client for the last month had got himself skewered before I could even find out his name?

"What'll it be, the usual?" said Sam, adjusting his coat collar.

Of late the usual was triple tap water on the rocks.

I sat for some twenty minutes watching Sam feed two husky dogs while I drank my tap water on the rocks. Finally, I finished my drink.

"Want another one? This one's on the house," said Sam.

Tap water on the house. Sam was becoming generous.

"Thanks, but I'll brave the warmth outside."

I was about to exit through the door when Sam called out.

"Oh, and don't forget to catch the circus while it's in town."

"Circus? What circus?"

"There's one in town. The papers over there," said Sam, pointing to a long discarded newspaper at one of the tables. I snatched up the newspaper, thanked Sam and headed home.

Back at the office I scanned the newspaper. In the entertainment column, right next to the political news, was what I was looking for. Beer Balm's Circus. All the thrills of the big top. Trapeze artists, clowns, jugglers, lions and knife throwers. Knife throwers! Well, well, well. Suddenly I was keen to visit the big top.

The following night I drove to the circus. It was on a large patch of ground at the far end of town. I parked my car and wandered towards the bright lights and blaring music. Now, one of the great temptations at any circus is sideshow alley. Not that any of these dumb games would attract me.

"Hey, you! You in the Humphrey Bogart detective coat! Come and try your luck. Shoot three ducks and win a prize."

One of the fairground barkers obviously thought I was a sucker.

"Sure," I said. "How much?"

It was a deal. I never could resist a duck shoot. I grabbed the toy rifle and fired away at the row of ducks. Five shots and five ducks down. I should have warned this guy I was a hotshot.

"So, what do I win?" I asked.

"A duck," said the barker.

"I don't see any toy ducks around," I said, with good reason.

The guy gave a short smart-assed laugh.

"Hey, buddy, who said anything about toy ducks?"

From behind the counter the guy produced a large, white duck.

The guy then thrust the duck at me. It quacked in my face like it was pleased to see me.

"He's all yours, buddy."

"Thanks," I said. "I'll order a dozen for Christmas."

I'd won a duck. I tucked it under my arm and walked deeper into sideshow alley. Suddenly, the duck gave out a quack followed by a loud passing of wind. It turned out to be more than wind. My Humphrey Bogart detective coat now had a large brown stain down the left side. The duck had just done his toilet. That did it. He had to go. I looked around in desperation and button holed a passing kid.

"Hey, kid. Wanna duck?"

"No thanks, Mister," said the kid.

I was in no mood for a kid who didn't want a duck.

"Sure you do, kid. Here!"

I shoved the duck up the kid's jumper and made a quick getaway behind the coconut shy. I'm sure it would make a great pet.

Having got rid of the duck I decided to investigate the knife-throwing act. Before I could make it to the big top out I spotted Delores. She was sitting alone eating pink candyfloss through matching pink lips. She was looking gorgeous in a tight, all leather outfit. It was too much to resist. The knife-throwing act could wait. Right now I needed Delores. As I walked towards her I hoped she wouldn't smell the duck crap.

"Hi, Delores, how's things?" It was a cool line.

"Oh, it's you. Hey, Wrigley, you smell like duck crap."

"Really? Must be the new aftershave I'm using. So, you enjoying the fairground?"

"Reminds me of when I was a kid. Takes me away from reality."

"We've got similar tastes, baby. Say, fancy a ride on the big dipper? I'm paying?"

I tried to look cool but inside I was smouldering. This was my big chance to get close to the delectable Delores. We walked together to the big dipper. Close but not touching. I made some small talk. She just grunted. I liked the way she ignored me. The line for the ride was short. Soon we were jammed tight like sardines in a can. Yellow. Number fourteen. I edged closer putting my arm around her shoulder. Our knees touched. I was on fire.

"Not so close, jug ears, you're making me nervous."

She'd say that now, but once we started zipping around those corners at 300 miles an hour she'd be all over me. Delores would be putty in my hands. She was going to be glad there was a strong he-man beside her in her moment of peril.

The cab slowly crawled to the top of the ride. I could sense Delores was nervous.

"Relax, baby, we're almost at the top. Don't hesitate to hang on to me if the ride makes you a little scaarrr..."

The ride took off at a ripping pace. I recalled letting out a scream as we almost went over the edge. I don't recall much after that. Things seemed to churn up inside my stomach. When the ride finally stopped Delores was getting all steamed up about somebody being sick all over her new leather coat.

"Who did it, baby? Just point him out? Who?"

"It was you, you idiot."

I was glad I'd made another favourable impression on Delores, but I had to get back to work. I left Delores cleaning her coat. For some reason she was shouting obscenities in my direction. The path of true love has many strange turns. Or so I'd read. I just knew we were going to make it someday.

I walked around for a few minutes to get my legs working again. Suddenly, there I was outside the big top. Stuck on the tent was a poster listing all the acts. About halfway down was what I was looking for. The knife-throwing act. The Sanchez Sisters. This I had to see.

I asked for the cheapest seats available. It was one of my best tricks. Once inside the big top I would head for a vacant seat among the most expensive seats. It worked like a charm. Inside the big top I noticed a vacant seat at ringside. The best view in the house. I headed straight for it and sat down. In the ring were two clowns amusing the audience between acts. They were doing the old bucket of water routine which in reality is a bucket filled with shredded paper. Round and around the ring they went pretending to tip the bucket over the terrified ringside spectators. Suddenly, I was approached by a tall looking guy in an expensive business suit.

"Excuse me, sir. You can't sit there. That seat is reserved for me," said the suit.

The guy obviously didn't know who he was dealing with.

"Sir, I said you can't sit there," insisted the suit.

The guy was really beginning to annoy me.

"Look, buddy. I paid three hundred dollars for this seat. And who the hell are you anyway?"

The guy looked around.

"Look, sir, I'm dressed as a businessman, but, in reality, I'm a clown."

There was a difference?

"Oh, yeah, but why have you got to sit here?"

"Why? Because I'm the clown that they drop the bucket of horseshit on, that's why," said the suit.

It was too late. A bucket of horseshit dropped all over me. Laughter erupted from the crowd.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very funny. Now get me a towel."

I was wiping my coat when the Ringmaster entered the ring.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. We now have a special treat for you. All the way from South America. A sensational knife-throwing act. Ladies and gentlemen, Beer Balm's Circus proudly presents, the fabulous, the magnificent...Sanchez Sisters!"

I'd just finished wiping my coat clean of horseshit when the Sanchez Sisters entered the ring. Boy, were they something to look at. Both were tall with long black hair and perfectly proportioned bodies. I'd have paid to watch them empty garbage or clean out the john. And boy, oh, boy, could they throw a knife. Six knives in the revolving target and all in a neat circle. Now where have I seen that before?

Again the Ringmaster stepped into the ring.

"And now, the Sanchez Sisters would like a volunteer from the audience to be a human target," said the Ringmaster.

A human target? Boy, this I had to see!

"How about you, sir. The gentleman in the Humphrey Bogart coat covered in shit?"

I looked around. I was kinda interested to see the guy in the same coat as me, smelling of duck and horse crap.

"No. You, sir. The gentleman who keeps turning around," said the Ringmaster.

There was no way I was going to be a human target for the knife-throwing Sanchez Sisters. I was in control and I wanted them to know that. Suddenly, the

Sanchez Sisters were right next to me, breathing heavily in a breathless, bosom-heaving kinda way. I was determined to resist.

"Sure, I'd love to be a human target," I heard myself saying.

"My name is Juanita, and I think you are a brave, gringo," said Juanita.

"My name is Rosa. And I think you are a foul smelling, gringo," said Rosa.

The girls escorted me into the circus ring. I was led over to a big wheel, which had straps for my wrists and ankles. Before I knew it I was spreadeagled on a giant disc. I had the feeling that I'd lost control of the situation.

"Relax, there is nothing to worry about, gringo face," said Juanita.

The Sanchez Sisters were so reassuring. Of course, I had nothing to worry about. These two beautiful, talented girls were just doing their everyday job. Throwing large, razor sharp knives at a fast moving target. A fast moving target that happened to be me.

"Spin the Wheel of Death, Rosa. And if we make a mistake we are sorry, amigo!" said Juanita.

And with those reassuring words ringing in my ears the world suddenly blurred as the wheel picked up speed. I could barely make out the Sanchez Sisters, who were both poised with a large, meat-axe of a knife, ready to be thrown in my direction. Suddenly it hit me. Being crapped on by a duck and drenched in horseshit wasn't so bad after all.

The wheel began to spin uncontrollably. Everything was moving around me at great speed. My head began to ache from being swung upside down. Then, as the knives thudded into the disc, everything went black.

I emerged from a deep dream. A dream in which I'd been drowning in duck crap. Then Juanita's gorgeous face began to take focus from the blur of images before me I could hear kind words filtering through to my senses.

"Wake up, you smelly gringo."

I looked around. I was sprawled on a large, soft bed that was surrounded by luxurious decor. Large, scantily clad photographs of the Sanchez Sisters adorned the walls.

"Where am I," I said.

"In our caravan at the circus," said Rosa.

As I sank into the soft, silky sheets I realised I could spend the rest of my life here just looking at those pictures.

"We have to go now, gringo. The next part of our act is due at any moment.

Make yourself at home," said Juanita.

"Adios," I croaked, as the girls departed.

After a long rest I decided to have a look around the caravan. I figured there had to be a connection between the Sanchez Sisters and Jack Pollard, the deceased lion tamer. I opened a few drawers but found nothing significant. It was hard to believe that the two knife-throwing beauties had killed Pollard. But the six knives in Pollard's back and the six knives in the Wheel of Death were conclusive proof of a connection. The same neat, tidy pattern. I was about to leave the caravan when curiosity drew me to a small wardrobe at the back of the van. And there, hanging in the corner, was a lion tamer's jacket. What detective skills told me it was a lion tamer's jacket? Easy. It had the words LION TAMER'S JACKET written on the back in bold, silver letters.

So, there was a connection. The trail was warming up. Then, as I lowered my head for a closer look at the jacket, a knife whistled overhead and embedded itself into the back of the wardrobe. The knife had come through the open window. I headed for the door but when I emerged outside there was nobody, just the sounds of the circus and the pungent smell of camel dung. Despite the near miss I felt encouraged. I was hot on the trail.

I drove back into town and headed for the 78^th Precinct of the PDPD to tell Big Harry what I'd discovered. As I entered the Precinct I had the distinct impression that something was wrong. Big Harry was pacing up and down, looking agitated.

"Goddamit, Wrigley. Look at this. A memo from the Commissioner. If I don't increase my arrest rate I'll be demoted to being a street cop again!" said Big Harry.

"It looks frightening, Big Harry," I said.

"Frightening! It's terrifying! No more plush office where I can watch the ball games. No more using the squad car to take the wife shopping. No more letting the kids play with my detective shield. Goddamit, Wrigley, I need to arrest somebody. Fast!"

"Relax," I said, "I've just the thing, Big Harry."

I told him about the Sanchez Sisters and how I figured that they were somehow implicated in Jack Pollard's death. Big Harry's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Thanks, Wrigley. It sounds like a water-tight case to me. Let's go, boys!"

Within an hour Big Harry was back at the Precinct with the two shapely Sanchez Sisters.

"Lock ÃÂÃÂ©m up!" hollered Big Harry.

Juanita and Rosa were still in their skimpy knife-throwing costumes. This created quite a stir. The uniform cops came forward in droves.

"No, I'll lock 'em up!"

"No, leave 'em to me!"

Even the prisoners in the overnight holding cells got over excited.

"You can lock ÃÂÃÂ©m in here if y' like!" they hollered.

Big Harry did the right thing and locked the girls in a cell on their own.

"Thanks, Wrigley, that should keep the Commissioner off my back."

"Don't mention it, Big Harry."

I was pleased with my work. I left the 78^th Precinct and decided to have a nightcap over at Sam's to celebrate. How the Sanchez Sisters were connected to Jack Pollard and why they had killed him I wasn't sure, but I figured the lawyers could work that one out.

As I entered Sam's I saw Delores in a figure hugging Eskimo coat. She was standing alone at the bar nursing an empty glass. I walked over. This was turning out to be my lucky night.

"Oh, it's you. I could smell you a mile away."

"Care for a drink, baby. I'm celebrating?"

"Sure, why not. A triple scotch on the rocks."

"A triple scotch? Are you sure you don't want anything...anything..."

"Cheaper? Is that what you're trying to say, Wrigley?"

I had to think fast.

"No. I mean anything not so strong."

"It's either a triple scotch on the rocks or I'm outta here."

Delores meant business. I turned to the bar.

"Triple scotch on the rocks, Sam. And make it quick."

"Triple scotch coming up," said Sam.

Delores seemed to relax.

"So, what's the celebration all about? And talk quick, you're beginning to stink the place out."

I told her about Pollard and the six knives in his back.

"Oh, yeah. So, who did it, Sherlock?"

"The Sanchez Sisters," I said proudly.

Delores creased her brow.

"Oh, yeah, I remember them. I saw them in a circus in Memphis last year."

"Yeah, that's them. I tell you, baby, both of them won't be throwing knives for some time."

Delores gave me one of her quizzical looks. Looks that made me uneasy.

"Both of them?" she said.

"Yeah. Rosa and Juanita."

"Don't you mean all three of them?"

Suddenly the hairs on my neck began to do the tango, the cha-cha-cha and the rumba.

"What...what do you mean...all three of them?" I stammered.

"Two brunettes and a blonde," said Delores.

"Yeah, the eldest Sanchez Sister. Carlotta. She also does some lion taming."

Something went clunk inside. I picked up Delores's scotch and downed it in one gulp.

"Hey, Wrigley, that was supposed to be for me!''

"Sorry, baby, I've gotta run!"

Through gathering fog I drove back to the circus. The car park was deserted as I parked the car and hoofed it to the big top. Everything was quiet. The show was over. The crowd had gone. But as I neared the animal cages I could hear the crack of a whip and animals roaring.

I was drawn to a large tent at the rear of the circus. Inside the tent was a cage with three large male lions. The lions were being whipped by a statuesque blonde woman in a skimpy all-revealing costume. Carlotta!

"Down you savage beasts! I will show you who is master!"

Carlotta seemed to enjoy thrashing the lions. She certainly wasn't sparing the whip. I slipped behind a barrel to get a closer look at the action. Carlotta had a mane of blonde hair and more curves than a Grand-Prix circuit. Boy, did she enjoy whipping those lions. Lashing the lions eventually exhausted her and she stomped out of the cage. I snuck further behind the barrel as she walked past. Her perfume had a familiar smell about it. Then it hit me. Bingo! It was the same perfume used by the woman on the beach the night Pollard got knifed.

I followed her to the caravans and watched her disappear inside a large van parked a well away from the others. I waited for a few minutes before knocking on the door. Nothing. I knocked again.

Then, "Come in, it's open."

I did as I was told.

Inside the caravan was warm, feminine and alluring. Carlotta was standing near a dressing table combing her hair with a wide brush. She'd changed from her lion taming costume into a short, silky night slip that clung to her shapely body. I felt myself drawn towards her. This was a woman who was all woman. I could visualise us making passionate love on her big, soft bed by the window. Then relaxing afterwards, discussing the finer points of lion taming. Carlotta turned to face me. She was beautiful.

"Who the hell are you, jug ears?'' said Carlotta, flicking back her hair. I moved into the centre of the caravan.

"I'm Midge Wrigley, your lover...I mean, I'm a private investigator investigating the death of Jack Pollard, the lion tamer."

"And what has that got to do with me, gringo face?''

I was about to reply when Carlotta bent over and gave me a terrific glimpse of her jugs. But when she straightened up she had a Colt 45 in her hand and it was pointed at me.

Carlotta laughed. It was a wicked laugh.

"You have come at the right time, Senor Wrigley. My lions are very hungry, I haven't fed them for a few days and I have run out of meat."

I didn't like the sound of this. I knew what was coming next.

"Get walking, Senor Wrigley. It is time my lovely lions had a good feed."

I had to think fast.

"I'll gladly pay for some cat food," I said.

"Shut up and keep moving, gringo!"

So there I was, at the wrong end of a Colt 45. If I didn't think of something fast I was going to become pussycat food to some very big pussycats.

Carlotta's blonde hair was tugged gently by the breeze as we headed towards the tent with the lion cage. I kept looking back at Carlotta hoping she would say it was all a mistake. One big Latin American joke. Maybe she would ask me to dance? I love the tango.

We walked on. Nothing changed. Carlotta was holding the Colt 45 at chest height, which was very distracting. It was difficult to believe that I was in great danger. But I was. The look in Carlotta's blue eyes and the ever-growing roar of the lions brought me back to reality. Carlotta was a ruthless killer and I was about to be her next victim.

"Keep walking, gringo. You smell awful."

Smelling like a farm yard was the least of my worries.

We entered the tent.

"Stop right there, gringo. Now, look at my poor hungry lions."

I was looking and I didn't like what I could see. Three big male lions with fang like teeth and a savage, mad glare in their eyes. The eye of the tiger, except that they were lions. Time was running out. Carlotta stood some distance away from me so I couldn't jump her. I had to think of something fast.

"Say, why don't we go down to the delicatessen. I hear cat food is on special this week. Reduced prices."

Carlotta stomped one of her shapely legs.

"Shut up, you fool! You are going to be their cat food!"

That's what I figured. I had to think faster. Asking a criminal why they did the crime was usually a good tactic. Criminals just couldn't resist talking about why and how they did it.

"Tell me, Carlotta. Why did you kill Jack Pollard?''

Carlotta gave me a cruel smile.

"I was hoping you would ask me that. There is nothing more exciting than bragging about a crime that I have committed. In fact it gives me such great orgasmic pleasure. Yes, yes, yes! I killed stupid Jack Pollard. Yes!"

Boy, this was some confession.

"Keep going, baby, I'm enjoying this...I mean I'm listening."

Carlotta began to walk around, enraptured by her story.

"Pollard thought he was the act. The brave lion tamer! Huh! It was me who they came to see. Me with my sexy body clothed in my sensuous costumes."

I couldn't deny that. Who would be interested in Pollard or lions with Carlotta in the cage.

"Keep talking, baby. This is fascinating."

Carlotta furrowed her brow. There was a hint of a smile somewhere. I figured she was enjoying the confession.

"Pollard always wanted top billing. Always! While I, the fabulous Carlotta, was reduced to a mere footnote on the posters. But not anymore. Now I am the star and Pollard is dead."

Boy, this was one sick dame.

"So, you killed him, huh?"

"Yes, I killed him! I followed him to the beach that night, the night he was going to meet you. I had overheard his conversation with you on his cell phone . I got to the beach first and threw six knives into his back. Then I put his lion tamer's coat into my sister's caravan. You were stupid enough to do the rest for me, you smelly gringo."

I nodded as though I was impressed.

"As a matter of interest, what happened to the dog?"

"Yeah, you had a dog with you that night on the beach?"

Carlotta smiled. It was an evil smile.

"Ah, yes. The dog was Pollard's"

"Yes, I fed him to the lions."

In a few minutes I was about to follow Fido. I figured I needed to keep talking.

"Your sisters are freezing their butts off in a downtown police cell for a crime you committed."

This seemed to amuse Carlotta.

"What do I care? Their butts are too big anyway."

"So, what now, baby."

It was a dumb line but I couldn't think of anything else.

"You have served your purpose in getting my two stupid sisters incriminated for Pollard's death. But it is now time for you to disappear. To disappear down the throats of my three hungry lions. Now, get into the cage, smelly gringo!"

"Hey, I'm kinda skinny and I haven't had a bath for days."

"Shut up! Get into the cage or I will shoot you dead and drag you in!"

It seemed my options were limited.

"Okay, I'm going into the cage."

I edged into the cage. The lions looked at me approvingly. I swallowed hard.

Maybe there was such a thing as male bonding between lion and man.

"Move further in the cage or I will shoot!" shouted Carlotta.

Trust women to ruin things. Just when I was getting on well with the guys. I edged in further. The lions let out a roar and loped towards me.

I'd been in some hot spots in my time but this took the gold medal. Behind me was the voluptuous Carlotta with a Colt 45 pointed at my back while in front of me were three lions looking for their first meal in days. I figured this was it. End of the line for Midge Wrigley, PI. But then, just as I was bracing myself for the inevitable, something strange happened. The lead lion stopped in front of me, sniffed then urinated on my leg. The other two did the same. Sniffed the same leg, same amount of urine. A lot of urine. Then slowly, the lions began to back off. Carlotta was furious.

"Eat him! What are you waiting for, you stupid animals?"

Amazingly, the lions began to inch backwards. Something was bothering them. Something like a bad smell. It didn't take me long to figure it out. It was the duck crap on my coat. The lions had been so scared that they had urinated in fear. Carlotta's savage lions were allergic to duck crap!

Carlotta couldn't work it out.

"You cowardly lions! What are you doing? Eat him!"

"I don't think they like me, Carlotta."

"Nonsense! They are hungry, they will eat anything. Even garbage like you!"

Carlotta came into the cage to berate the retreating lions. But in her anger she forgot the whip, which was by the cage door. Then one of the lions made a menacing move towards her.

"Stupid creatures! I will kill all of you!"

Carlotta aimed the Colt 45 at one of the lions and pulled the trigger.Nothing. Just a dull click. The gun had jammed.

"Stupid gun!" screamed Carlotta.

Suddenly, everything happened at once. The first lion turned as though to retreat but turned again and sprang at Carlotta knocking her over.

"Help me!" screamed Carlotta, as she scrambled to regain her footing.

But it was too late. The other two lions joined their buddy and pounced on Carlotta's writhing body. Carlotta's screams were soon silenced. Within seconds she was torn to shreds. What a waste. In a few gory minutes it was all over. The lions had their best feed in days. And all that remained of Carlotta was her torn night slip and her high-heeled shoes. I guess even hungry lions can be choosy. I quickly backed out of the cage, locked it and headed for the car.

Another case solved. I dropped my Humphrey Bogart coat off at a twenty-four hour dry cleaning store. The duck stain had to go. I then drove back to my office-cum-apartment to get some badly needed shut eye. As I opened the door to the apartments I saw Delores standing outside her door. She was fumbling in her bag. I guessed she'd misplaced her door key again. Normally, this would be an ideal situation for me to further impress her with my cool, detective mannerisms. But tonight I just didn't feel like it. I was deadbeat. All tuckered out. All I wanted to do was hit the sack and count Sam Spade's jumping over gorgeous dames.

Delores normally would ignore me. But for some reason she walked towards me, her face bright and expectant.

"Hey, Wrigley, what's that smell?"

"What smell? My duck-crapped, horse-crapped coat is at the dry cleaners."

"Wrigley, that smell is so...so masculine...so romantic...so animal...so masterful."

I'd never seen Delores like this before. Then the dime dropped. Delores was drawn by the lion urine staining my stovepipe trousers.

"You hunk of a man, you. Let me kiss you."

And she did. One big smack on the lips. Boy, was that some kiss! I had to stay cool. This was the big time and I'd made it. All my previous attempts to impress Delores had failed miserably. But now...

Delores held my face in her well manicured hands. Hell, she was beautiful.

"Want to come in for a nightcap, Wrigley?"

Delores was asking me in for a nightcap? This was the moment I'd been waiting for. There was no way I was going to blow this one. But I still had to play it cool. Guys have to do that.

"Well, actually, I'm a little tired right now."

Maybe I was too cool. I couldn't believe I'd actually said that. The change in Delores's face told me I'd blown it.

"Well! If that's the way you feel, Wrigley! Good night!"

Delores grabbed her key, opened the door and slammed it in my face. It was a familiar feeling. I'd goofed again. In desperation I banged on her door.

"Delores, open up. I'm fine. I'm raring to go, honest!"

"Get lost, jug ears!"

"Delores, I'm sorry. I don't know what made me say that."

"Beat it, or I'll call the cops!''

But as I trudged up the stairs to my apartment I had an unexpected glow in my heart. Even though I'd made a mess of the situation tonight I knew what turned Delores on. Big time. I just had to get myself a pet lion.

Ken Cotterill is a novelist and playwright. His two novels are The Bizarre Death of Karla Borsch (2002) and Two Top Cops (2005). His plays have been produced all over Australia and also in New Mexico, Florida, Texas.and northern England. His best known plays are Re-Electing Roger, Richard the Third's Revenge, Perfect Murder, Lee, Logies, Rachel, Children of the Levant, Cassowaries Don't Make Yen, and Men at Work. Ken has also been involved in nearly a hundred plays as an actor or director. He has also had articles published on such diverse subjects as industrial relations, Shakespeare, railways and boxing.