Mom sees a night stand dumped over with a broken lamp. She yells "Who did this". In his office, Tracer Bullet hears Mom's yell. He knows he has a case. He says the sound of greenbacks slapping across his palms is music to his ears. He's not an opera critic, he's a private eye.

Tracer Bullet keeps two magnums in his desk. One is a gun he keeps loaded, the other a bottle that keeps him loaded. He's a tough guy who people don't want around when they work. They've told him so with blunt instruments. He's a phrenologist's dream come true. Snooping pays the bills, though. Especially Bill, his bookie, and Bill, his probation officer. When the tall brunette opened the door with a case for him (Mom coming into his bedroom fuming), his heart did some calisthenics and took the job.

Tracer says the dame had a case. She was the pushy type. She'd break your heart, or your arms. Mom scoots Calvin to the broken lamp. Tracer looks at the damage and figures she either has a psychotic decorator or someone ransacked the place in a big hurry. Mom asks how Calvin can explain the damage. Calvin thinks the dame was hysterical. They usually are.

Mom asks Calvin what he has to say for himself. Calvin tells Mom he's looking for clues. Tracer realizes it's all a set up. The dame wanted a patsy to pin the crime on. Calvin thinks he doesn't like the way this story is shaping up, so he's decided to write a new ending with his .45 automatic as coauthor.

Tracer introduces the dame to his friend, his gun. His friend is an eloquent speaker. Tracer fires three times, and he leaves the room. Mom has three suction darts on the wall behind her. She rolls up her sleeves. She tells Calvin he's in real trouble now. Calvin runs off.

Tracer says he just about had it figured out when the dame's hired goon jumped out. Dad lectures Calvin while Calvin thinks a symphony was playing in his head, and the acoustics were terrible. The orchestra went on a tour of his brain, and he had a season pass with front row tickets. He had figured out who trashed the living room, but since the dame wasn't his client anymore, he didn't feel he needed to divulge the information. The culprit happened to be a buddy of his, so he closed the case. Hobbes guesses they should have played outside.