Jake Simon is a crude old-school noir-leaning soft-boiled New Jersey private investigator who wakes up to find that his brilliant receptionist/lover Elaine has apparently become giant sized. But it quickly becomes clear that instead it is Jake that has a small problem: he has been shrunken from six-foot-two inches to two-foot-six inches. The only lead is that on the previous night he became ill while meeting with his new billionaire client. Unfortunately, the client is missing, and Jake was the last person to visit him.
Elaine helps Jake discover that two impossibly big, ugly, rotten smelling foreign chemists are involved somehow, but how and why? They wear white fedoras, so they couldn't really be so bad, right? Are reports of trolls, giants, elves, dwarves, dragons, and malicious magic related to the case somehow? How can Elaine's black mob cat can talk, the sneaky little bastard? Jake has a lot of things to work out in Jersey and Arizona in order to finally close out this case, though he'd rather be gambling at the race track or getting really chummy with Jack Daniels in his favorite bar. Fortunately besides booze Jake has anti-elf garlic and his P-I wisdom to fall back on: "Once you eliminate the possible, whatever truth remains is lame; that’s how these things work."
A safe, fun, escapist adventure for mature readers. Crude language, alluded-to sex, and some violence, but no explicit erotica or gore. Some danger of mild enlightenment and smiley faces.
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