This Hobbit For Hire, Part 1

Business had been slow that day. I had just opened a fresh pack of Luckies when there was a knock on my office door. The door opened and in walked a pair of long, shapely legs -- and what they brought with them didn't look bad either. The ears poking out from her silky blond hair told me she was of Elven persuasion. The nape of her neck told me I could be easily persuaded.

"Are you Bramble Fardbottom: Hobbit Detective?" she asked.

"That's what it says on the door. What can I do you for, dollface?"

"My name is Tinúviel. I come from Rivendell. I need you to help me find... a ring."

"Keep flashing those baby blues and I'm likely to offer you one."

She threw me a fake smile, like I was runner-up in the Tired Pickup Line Competition. "Not that kind of ring, Mr. Fardbottom. I'm looking for the One Ring."

"One Ring?"

"Erm... it's a special ring. Special to me, that is. When heated, it reveals a Tengwar inscription around the edges. Rumor has it that it was last seen around Moria, perhaps now in the hands of the Dwarves."

"Sentimental value?"

"Uh... yes," she smiled.

"I charge 25 dollars a day, plus expenses."

She looked disheartened. " I-I'm afraid I can't pay you right away..."

"I get it," I said. "All that high society living in Rivendell has depleted the trust fund and now you're living beyond your means? Sorry, sister. I don't work on credit."

At first she looked like she wanted to slap me. Instead she smiled and set one of her high heels on my desk, arching her leg as she straightened her stocking, allowing my eyes to trace the full curvature of her calf.

"Perhaps there's something else of value that I could pay you with?"

I jumped up on the desk and stood on two phone books so I could grab her by the shoulders and look her in the eye.

"You're coming on pretty strong, angel buns. You trying to make me for a sap?"

"Mr. Fardbottom, please," she whimpered. "I'm desperate. I'll do anything to get the ring."

"Anything?"

She grabbed the back of my head and pressed her lips hard against mine. Her teeth cut into my lower lip, igniting the tip of my Dark Tower of Barad-dûr looking to breach her unassailable Helm's Deep. She pulled away and we gasped for air.

"You've got yourself a private dick," I said.

"We founds it, Precious," he murmured to himself. "We founds the hobbit detective..."

"Can I help you?"

"Yesss," he said slyly. "Allow us to introduce ourselves--"

"No need," I interrupted. "You're actor Peter Lorre, aren't you? I'm a big fan."

"...Peter Lorre?"

"You were great in Casablanca," I continued. "So what's with the getup? You researching for a role as a heroin addict?"

He frowned and turned his head. "Fat, stupid hobbits," he said under his breath. He began to cough violently.

"Gollum! Gollum!"

"That's a pretty nasty cough you got there." I held out my pack of Luckies. "Maybe you should switch brands. These are filtered."

"We wants to hire you to find my precious!"

"Missing dame?"

"No. It is an, ah, ornament that has been -- shall we say? -- mislaid. We're prepared to pay the sums of five thousand dollars for its recoveries."

"Hey, do you mind if I ask you for an autograph?"

I turned to get a pad of paper and a pen out of a drawer in my desk. When I turned back, Peter Lorre was sticking a .38 in my face.

"You will pleases," he said, "clasp your handsies together at the back of your necksies. We intends to search your offices, gollum, gollum!"