My name is Ian Stone. I am a Private Detective – a P.I. I work hard to cultivate a certain film noir image of the hard-boiled tough guy gumshoe, with my Black Fedora, Burberry trench coat, and rugged good looks. I also wear matching Emerald green converses plus an emerald silk tie – and currently the tie is being used to strangle me. I swear to god, if I somehow manage to survive this night I’m going to buy a clip on.
Not to say that being dragged around like a Raggedy Ann doll by my neck isn’t just the most fun I’ve had since going to Pep Rallies back in high school, but I really do think that I’d be having an easier time of this if I hadn’t gotten out of an ambulance 3 hours ago while dodging going to the hospital like I should have. See, I already have a broken ankle, a broken wrist, four claw marks shredding my chest up, and my face looks like Mike Tyson used it for prefight warm-up.
Sounds dire, right? Don’t worry, I’ve been through worse and I’m still here. Crazy, eh? So, now, I’m being picked up by the throat and shaken by a kid that’s barely my height and easily weighs less than me. Though I’m not sure I’ll actually survive this one…
So, the real question of the hour seems to be, ‘how the heck did I get myself into this scrape, eh?’