MATT CADD, PRIVATE EYE: Working Girl

Matt Cadd was alone. Honey? Boring. Raven? Dancing. He went looking for Candi. He found her in Starbuck's with mocha and croissant. He wheedled. He smooth-talked. He got her.

She waited.

"Doll. You mean it? You're charging me?"

"It's a work night," she pouted, "you--of anyone--ought to understand."






Fifties don't talk. They scream.