The Big Chihuahua by Waverly Curtis

prized green-shaded lamp into one of them. The file cabinet drawers were open and empty. Piles of manila folders sat on top of the two waiting room chairs.
    “Oh, hey there,” said our boss, looking up.
    “Hey, yourself,” I said.
    “And you, little rat-dog,” he said to Pepe. “How’s it hanging?”
    “Bigger than yours,” Pepe told him.
    Our boss frowned. “Jimmy G could swear he heard a note of sarcasm from your rat-dog,” he told me. “That couldn’t be possible, could it?”
    “Of course not,” I said.
    “You bet!” said Pepe.
    Jimmy G gave up on the lamp and left it sticking half out of the box. “Well,” he said, reaching into his ashtray and sticking a short, burned out cigar butt into his mouth. “Maybe Jimmy G’s been keeping company with you for too long. You always act like your dog’s talking to you, and could be that’s just rubbing off on Jimmy G.”
    I changed the subject. “What’s up, boss? Why are you packing?”
    “Figure Jimmy G has got to get his stuff out of here before the landlord throws it out on the street,” he said. “I just don’t see how I can get my hands on the kind of moola I need to pay the rent.”
    I was pretty sure he was going to ask me for a loan, so I changed the subject. “So how do you want me to proceed with the Mark Darling case?”
    “Oh, hey! Got your thinking cap on, doll!” Jimmy G said. “He owes us the balance on his account. Maybe that’ll keep the wolf away from the door for at least another month.”
    “What happened to the deposit?” I asked.
    “What deposit?” Jimmy G asked. “You should have collected that when you did the initial interview.”
    I shook my head. “You didn’t mention that.” And frankly, neither did The Private Detective’s Bible , my handy guide to my new profession.
    “Does Jimmy G have to tell you everything?” he asked.
    “Well, yes, you’re training us,” I said. “But do you really think we should be collecting money from him under the circumstances?” I asked.
    “You delivered the message, right?” Jimmy G asked.
    “Yes!”
    “That’s great. Now go collect the money.”
    “I’m not sure I can do that, Jimmy G.” I really didn’t think it was appropriate. Or civilized.
    “Part of the job. Got to get used to it. Didn’t you say you once worked for a collection agency?”
    “Yes, but I wasn’t good at it. Anyway, that’s not the problem. The problem is that shortly after I delivered the message, Tammy died.”
    “Died like in dead?”
    “Yes, dead.” I explained the situation to him, but I left out the part about my sister. It just didn’t seem relevant.
    “Well, that is unfortunate,” said Jimmy G, “but you still did your part of the job.”
    “Yes, but I can’t go ask a man who just lost his wife to give us the money for delivering a message to her hours before her death.”
    “Well, if you can’t do it, Jimmy G can,” said my boss. “Come with me, doll, and Jimmy G will show you how it’s done.”
     
     
    The man who opened the door looked almost exactly the same as the man we had met almost two days earlier. It shook me up a bit; I expected maybe red eyes or a disheveled appearance.
    Maybe he didn’t know his wife was dead? I cringed at the thought of being the one to deliver the news. Not Jimmy G.
    “So, man,” he said, barging into the hall, “so sorry about your loss.” In an aside to me, he said, “Important to gain access to the home when collecting a debt.”
    Mark looked startled but stepped aside to let us parade by, then shut the door behind us. Jimmy G headed straight for the living room and plopped down on a caramel-colored leather couch, which made a slight squeaking sound. I paused on the threshold. Something was off. Something was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
    “Where’s Fuzzy?” said Pepe, looking around the room.
    “Yes, where’s Fuzzy?” I asked.
    “Funniest thing,” said Mark, punctuating this statement with a