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  • Max sat in his big comfy armchair and picked mindlessly at the threadbare arms. He looked around his apartment/office. He lived in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood because he could afford it, and because it suited most of his seedy clientele.

    Max had a studio in a Victorian. The high ceiling and big windows compensated somewhat for the tiny space. The largest piece of furniture was his desk which was parked defensively against a shaded window facing towards his front door. His revolver taped under the pencil drawer for easy reach. His bed was neatly tucked into a side wall available at a moments tug on a leather strap. A couple of uncomfortable hardbacked chairs, to discourage long visits, were placed for clients in front of the desk. His kitchen presented in one corner like an after thought with a small stove, frig, and percolator. The decor was non-existent except for a few generic photographs on the wall.

    Outside on his door, over a small frosted window, were painted in golden letters - F. Max Diamond - Private Eye.
  • Today was a particularly dreary day. The San Francisco fog had rolled in and stayed rather than burning off. War had been declared a few months ago bringing the U.S. fully into another world war and most of his buddies were gone now. Rather than being relieved that he was 4F, he was disheartened. He had done time in the Pen. While there, one of the fights he had gotten into had been a bad one. The guy had beaten him about his head and broken an eardrum. He also obtained a brain injury and was in the hospital four weeks. At times he had disabling headaches. The draft told him the broken eardrum was enough to reject him.
  • So here he sat. He got tired of explaining to women he met, over and over why he was 4F. He could see their disgusted expression because he looked healthy and strong. In the meantime he was making his living trailing the wives of jealous husbands who were equally frustrated about their disabilities or just plain too old for their young brides. With this war, everyone was dealt a bad hand. So people made the best of it when they could, often doing things they might not have, given better times.
  • This noir series is documentary fiction - a little bit of truth and a little bit of fiction.
    Photos: Martin Kane Private Eye TV show, Private Eye - IMG Arcade, Victorian House - Wikipedia commons.
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