This is my favorite part of the story. It's when the hero (that's me) waxes philosophic in his wrap up of the case and ties up a few loose ends, to boot.

I'm back in my office, sipping on a few fingers of bourbon, a little Miller playing on the CD player, his golden trombone covering me like a velour blanket. To me, this is the best way to end your day.

But let me give you the skinny on what happened after the arrest before I get too relaxed and ask you to take a powder.

Chuckie got a commendation from the mayor for solving the case, which landed him on all the news channels and he became the flavor of the day; for a little while, anyway. I got a little PR in the process myself. Meanwhile, our plug-ugly buddy Jer is still trying to figure out what happened, even though all the major stations explained what happened. The boy's about as sharp as a bag of wet mice.

For the record, even though Manuel never did get the big thumb from me on the shirts, or the other products, I seem to see more and more people wearing my mug on their heads and chest. They shoot me an atta-boy if they pass me on the street, and I get that ah-shucks feeling. I ain't so tough.

Now, Millie's taking Manny to court, saying that Chuck should have a shirt and product line of his own. Chuck's turning the blind eye on this one. I wanted you to know this straight from the horse's mouth, so you don't think I went Hollywood.

Frank Baxter and Victoria Curtin went up for two murders in the first; two life sentences to be served consecutively. Every Christmas, when I'm feeling especially mushy, I send Angel a card. I had Manny put Baxter on Jake Beal Fan Club mailing list. He gets an official monthly Jake Beal newsletter, and I have Manny include product samples from the entire Jake Beal line. Mugs, tee-shirts, post cards, board games, 8 x 10 glossies of yours truly; you name it, I got Manny sending it. This year I asked Manny to send the newest product to the pen; a six foot Jake Beal cardboard stand-up.

Ain't I a stinker?

Peckington-Smythe was sent up the river and spent a little over a year in the jug. Because he turned state's evidence, he was given an early release. Of course, he wrote a tell-all book on the case, building up his part along the way. Then came the movie. They had this Fred Ward guy play Chuck, but, in comparison, Ward's way too pretty. An actor named Campbell played me; did a few cult films, I heard. I had never seen him before, but as far as I was concerned, he did an okay job. The biggest hoot was that they got Sir Ian McKellen to play Jeeves. That guy needs to get a new agent, if you ask me. Jeevesie is now a talk show host, and, from the last time I looked, his ratings were pretty good.

Only in America.

Maybe it's just called Hollywood.

Then I realized that no debate was needed. I represent a time gone by, even if it was only on a silver screen. But what was up there people believed in, wanted to be; trusted. And if I can bring a little of that feeling back while helping a mug, or two along the way, well then, that's swell.

Close-up on the Hollywood sign reflecting in my window. Slow pull back. In the window's reflection, you can see I'm wearing my trench coat and fedora. I light my stogie and pull my hat down snug, my transparent image superimposed over the sign's white letters.

I'm Jake Beal. I'm a gumshoe.

Fade to black.

The End.