My name is Smith,

That’s Smith N. Wesson.

I’m a licensed P I,

And I carry a big ass gun.

This case started on a Tuesday,

When she walked into my life.

The dame dressed in red,

Probably some rich sap's wife.

I asked her the usual questions,

“OK sister; What’s the Caper?”

She tossed a bundle on my desk,

It was a first edition newspaper.

I turned it around,

And there circled in red,

Was a story on a missing scientist.

It read ‘presumed dead’.

I looked up to said dame,

As she began to cry.

“Oh please can you help me?”

Her chest heaving in a sigh.

My gut told me her water-works,

Was nothing more than a show.

I set that fact aside though,

As she tossed a wad of dough.

That’s a lot of presidents, I mused,

And hoped there were more.

That’s when my partner, Jack,

He came walking through the door.

“Hi ya Mac,” he began,

Until he saw the gal in red.

The rest of the greeting,

It just went unsaid.

“What do we have here?” he asked,

His eyes traveling up, then down.

The look on his face I noted,

Looking more a circus clown.

I grinned and rolled my eyes,

Pointing over to the dame.

“I was just getting to that,” I said.

“So sister, what’s the game?’

Red, she looked,

From me, then to Jack.

Jack was still grinning,

His eyes still on her rack.

With a huff,

She returned her attention my way.

“I want you to find him,” she said.

“Can you start right away?”

I leaned back in my chair,

And nodded my head.

“We’ll take your case toots.”

The case of the lady in red.