As I trekked home through the city streets after a rough night on LaFlamme's sofa, it became clear to me that my life had taken a turn towards unhingement.

My shifty client Spore had set me up with a tricky task in trying to fix up his terrible logo and find its hidden religious significance. And LaFlamme had hinted that there may be a clue to this in the Jack Daniels label. But the only real revelation last night was that LaFlamme could drink with both hands.

I stepped quickly past Flanagan's Bar - no point going near there for a while. But I needed to study that JD label in the cold light of day.

I entered a local liquor store and perused the lined shelves. There it was, the distinctive white on black with its manifold typefaces.

I lacked sufficient funds to buy the bottle so I stood there eyeballing it within an inch of my face, much to the store-owner's consternation. His composure hardened and I felt waves of disapproval cross the room.

"I wonder if.. if.. I could borrow this," I finally blurted out. It proved to be a decisive moment for him.

After dusting myself down, I figured I might be able to hit Spore for an advance and crossed town towards his gothic mansion on the east side.

Imagine my horror when I stepped inside and found Spore's body, wearing nothing but all-in-one long-johns, spread-eagled on the floor, a blood painted five-point star on his torso.