She came in trouble, all five feet, six inches of it. Even her name was a warning that things were about to get bad for me, real quick: "Storm." Miss Susie Storm, standing there in a blue gown custom-made to take years off the life of anyone who saw her, big as life in my crummy office. The doll needed a private eye to find her boyfriend. Seems he'd pulled a disappearing act: one "Professor Richards," a hard-luck egghead who'd somehow scored way out of his league. I didn't want to take her case, but my bank account said otherwise, and besides: There was something about her. A sense of danger maybe, but also, a vulnerability. Call me a sap, but the world's a rough place — and me, I didn't want to make it any rougher on her. 'Course, it wasn't long before I wished I'd had the good sense to keep my distance…
