Sam Spade

What else?

From Samuel Spade.

License number 137596.

Boom.

Thank you, Effie.

Subject, uh, Joe Morales.

Uh, dear Johnny.

You hired me yesterday morning, but the real start of it was back in 45.

Flashback.

San Francisco was just recovering from VJ Day, and crime was practically the standstill.

Because your number one competitor in the West Coast mobs had just been rubbed out, and you were on trial for same.

Nothing about the trial made any sense.

The tea time chatter in the better pool rooms was that you were taking the rap for your worst enemy, Joe Morellis.

What made even less sense, the lawyer defending you was Joe's brother.

So I wasn't a bit surprised to receive your check for $25, together with an invitation to be in the third row of the courtroom when the jury returned the verdict.

I was.

You didn't even look at the judge while he was dishing it out.

Your eyes were on the man sitting directly in front of me.

The man you were supposed to be taking the rap for.

The man you had deliberately planted me behind, Joe Morales.