Charles Walsh and Bob Wells

As Richard Diamond, Private Detective. Hello there, Mrs. Diamond. I have a little office on Broadway at 53rd Street.

And if you happen to be in the neighborhood sometime, you might notice a sign on the door. It reads Diamond Detective Agency. Now that's how I am like a living, such as it is. I sit at my desk behind that door and wait for someone to come in and hire me.

Eventually trouble works its way into someone's life and gives him a shove in my direction. He tells me about it and I listen with the attitude of a father-confessor. When he's done, I dry my eyes and tell him what I think.

What I think really doesn't matter because it's just a shortcut to a hundred dollars a day in expenses. Sure, you can hire a guy for less money, but when I work it's for the price I figure I'm worth.

It's got to be that way because sometimes it works a little dirty. And I have to swallow a lot of pride. I get mixed up in everything from simple divorce to muscle bound homicide. And when trouble can't find me a client, it starts working on yours truly and I wind up in the corner.

I guess trouble figured I was just about to do for a squeeze play because one night last week two lifers in the state pen started working knee into their plans. What about it, Wall? Shut up!

We can do the guards pass. Okay. Drag out the cards like we was playing. Sure. Is it, uh, set for the night? Eh, I got the car and everything. Yeah. Well, head for Florida and get across the Cuba.