"So, you've got a great suit?" said McGraddy, the police detective with the heavy finger that kept digging into my shoulder. "Yeah, so what?" I threw back into his face with the nose just a bit too big for his ears. "Well, I got a guy who's looking for a vintage suit and buddy... you got one or two hangin' right there in the closet!" Said his finger turning into a fist and finding me square across the jaw. I pulled myself off the floor and lit a cigarette and blew smoke through my bleeding lips. "Well why didn't you say so. Who's your friend?" I whispered. "Shamus. He's looking for a suit and wants some help from all the guys who's got em' hanging in the closet." He said this time without the fist and only two fingers reaching for my cigarette. He took a puff, and went on to tell me about how this Shamus guys looking for a great vintage suit and wants to see some vintage labels so he can identify some in thrift stores and other seedy places. "Sure Pal." I said. "Get me my digital camera." "Your what?" he asked. This time the fingers were turning into the fist again. "Right." I said. "This is only 1940."