Hammer, C.E. Detective- 555-1319. Thats what it says in the yellow pages. One free line, compressed in between two quarter page ads. Expensive quarter page proclamations vying for the attention of potential well-to-do clients for flourishing detective agencies. Fortunately, Carlton Eugene Hammer wasn't running a flourishing detective agency, because he couldn't afford a quarter page ad.<br/><br/>Nope. Carl "The Hammer" was far from prosperous. He was  constantly reminded of this fact whenever he sat at his second hand desk staring at an ever increasing pile of bills. Carl guessed that it took four men and a boy two days to haul the heavy desk up to the third floor office. Dozens of coffee ring stains were covered by reams of papers and Manila file folders. The stacks of papers yielded only to the smoke colored twelve inch ash tray that was overflowing with stubs of Camel Non-Filters. Somehow he found room to keep the black telephone on the opposite corner. The desk had been there long before he had rented the joint. The office location seemed perfect. Directly above a bakery which shared a wall with a delicatessen. The pawn shop right next door was a bonus.<br/><br/>The monumental desk shared the office with an ancient overstuffed couch, which took up the far wall. Two standard office chairs sat opposite the desk to accommodate clients.<br/><br/>A ceiling fan hung from the 10 foot ceilings, spinning only fast enough to escape the impending layer of dust. A small mountain of empty Chinese food containers surrounded a couple of beer cans on the floor. This revealed which end of the couch got used the most.  The very couch he was sleeping on at 5 a.m. when he thought he heard a knock at the door.<br/><br/>The first knocks penetrated his subconscious, making him acutely aware that someone was at the door. His eyes opened at the second frantic sounding knock. It was still dark outside! It couldn't be a bill collector this early. He forced himself into a sitting position and pulled his slacks off the floor and up his legs as he stood. "keep your pants on" he mumbled ironically during the third and final set of sharp raps at the door.<br/><br/>He ran his hand over his hair in a feudal attempt to smooth it down before opening the door. There he stood in yesterday's t-shirt, black socks and wrinkled slacks looking down at a young woman whose whole morning had just been spoiled. He glanced up and down the short hallway then helped her to her feet, half leading half carrying her over to the couch where he laid her down.  He grabbed a paper towel out of the water closet and dampened it. Then he sat beside her gently wiping at the gash on her forehead. He thought he recognized her, but he couldn't be sure. "What happened" he asked as he carefully wiped at her forehead.