ChuckleVision Noir

The rain poured down, unremitting, relentless. As I trudged through it with my head down and the lapels of my coat pulled up, I pondered the case. It still didn't make sense. Nothing was what I had expected. Each time I thought I was onto something, I turned out to be wrong. It was like getting an unexplained shower of confetti from a bucket full of wallpaper paste- whatever rules were in play, I still had no idea how things were going to turn out. 

Maybe somewhere in this there was a clue I could grasp, something that I could use to make sense of this whole damn shooting match. The latest piece of the puzzle was the woman at the airport. I'd spent three months undercover tracking down one of Carpone's rackets. All that work had finally got close to bearing fruit. I'd found out that a lady by the name of Roxy Rowlands was going to be carrying out a cool half million in stolen gold bullion on a private flight, leaving at midnight.