Let's get down to business...
Uncross those beautiful stems of yours, baby, here's the case I call "Number 666".
It all began innocently enough on Tuesday. I was sitting in my office on that drizzly afternoon listening to the monotonous staccato of rain on my desk top and reading my name on the glass of my office door.
"R,E,G,N,A,D K,C,I,N"
My secretary lay snoring on the floor, her long, beautiful gams pinioned under the couch.
I didn't hear him enter, but my nostrils flared at the smell of his perfume: Pyramid Patchouli.
There was only one joker in L.A. sensitive enough to wear that scent, and I had to find out who he was...

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