Hardboiled ... and Then Some

The Maltese Falcon
Dashiell Hammett
Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

We met in a an out-of-the-way bar just off O'Farrell and Mason. I was on assignment writing a special for the Examiner, Sam was working a case. He came over to my table, stopped in front of me and said "Sweetheart, can you be a pal and talk to me like we know each other?" I shrugged my acquiescence and gestured toward a chair on the opposite side of the table. Sam quirked a thickish brow and surveyed me top-to-toe with those yellow-grey eyes. He signaled to the barman, sat down next to me and leaned in. "You look like a dame," he said with a languid grin, "Who can appreciate a drink. Tell me your story to help me pass the time." Sigh. If I had only known what I was getting into.

Sam, it seems, did not approach me by chance. I was in San Francisco chasing down leads on a stolen artifact related to the Templars. I didn't know it at the time, but Sam had been engaged to find the same object d'art by one of my paper's chief rivals. All I had was a story at stake -- for Sam, it was decidedly more personal. The night before we met, his business partner had been murdered and it was somehow all tangled up in the missing statue. Sam was charming and sexy, and while I was falling in love, he was pumping me for information. I should have figured him for a private eye the moment he walked in. He had that don't fuck with me, lone-wolf look that I've been attracted to before.

In the end, we both got what we wanted. The statue turned out to be a fake and for the most part, the bad guys got away. After a few days, I said goodbye to San Francisco as I was hot on the trail of another story. As for Sam, well, I have a feeling that I'll be back to visit him someday soon. He was an interesting man and I'm always up for a little murder and mayhem. And oh, just in case you were wondering -- the drink that Sam ordered? It was a Manhattan. Best damn drink I've ever had -- I'd give it five stars out of five.