The dick and his head.

The roadside fortune teller, the permanently stationed acrobats on the footpath, the differently abled kids on the wheeled wooden sledge, the perpetually pregnant Rajasthani woman, the monkey clinging to her barren chest; everyone noticed the figure in the overcoat and the hat slipping out of the Raymond’s shop that hot summer afternoon. They also noticed the drop of sweat that trickled down his nose under which an unlit cigarette dangled precariously from his lips and the Zippo that came out his pocket in a flash despite the chaos that surrounded them.

Click!

Zzuck!

Tshhhh!

Clock!

He took a deep drag. Long enough to fill his lungs tight. And then blew out an unimpressive thin blob of smoke.

How come the smoke that comes out of a character’s mouth in films is so full, so white, so thick, so satisfying, he thought.

“CG”, a neuron twitched.

Disgusted, he crushed his cigarette under his newly acquired black leather shoes thinking of getting himself a pipe and a pouch of strong tobacco when an almost inhuman scream pierced his ears.

All his involuntary muscles came into action. His mouth went dry. Food for thought! His tongue reached his lips for a quick lick. A case to crack! His mystery-monger mind exploded in a million directions as his action-hungry heart started knocking on his rib cage, impatiently. A reason to exist! God, he loved this nervous energy.

He could almost hear the strains of the background music he had composed for the film ‘they’ would make on his mysterious exploits once he was done and gone as he turned around (in slow-mo) to see a woman in 'Black & White' standing in front of the Raymond’s store, pointing at him.

She looked familiar.

A story so mysterious he couldn't come up with a headline.

He took a deep breath.

The End.

"What the fuck you mean by The End?!", he wanted to shout.
He couldn't because he was coughing.
Cigarettes be damned.
He never knew how coughing could make someone look cool.
But he was told to be an ace detective you have to have an overcoat, a hat and a cigarette.

He was still waiting for the off-season sale to pick up the overcoat and the hat.

"The" because, he had already scouted a few shops and finally fell in love with this dull black coat, and the shop owner's hat.

The shop owner, he was sure will give the hat to him, because he sensed the man has a thing for entrepreneurs.

It was this keen understanding about people that made him want to be a detective.

Though he was flummoxed when the owner had refused to let him try the hat. After all why would he refuse to let him try it when eventually he will have to willingly give it to him.

Having seen every detective movie there was, nothing could baffle him.

So he deduced it must be the owner reacting to the rather smart experiment of him trying to get out of the shop while wearing the overcoat, without paying for it.

He knew it was not his fault. It never was.

It was this keen understanding that made him think he was going to be the best detective there ever was.