I'd just finished putting the puzzle pieces together when the dame's hired goon jumped out of nowhere and practiced for his chiropractic degree. When the discussion was done, an all-percussion symphony was playing in my head, and the accoustics were incredible. The orchestra went on a ten-city tour of my brain. And I had a season pass with front row seats. I had figured out who trashed the dame's living room, but since she wasn't my client any more, I felt no need to divulge that information. Besides, the culprit happened to be a buddy of mine. I closed the case. I guess we should've played outside, huh?