Evidence

The case was a tough one -- but then, they knew better than to call me for the easy ones. Name's Ace, Ace Lucas. I'm a Private Hacker. It says so on my door.
I had just settled for a quiet night, just me, the fags, the vodka, and the flickering neon throwing crosses through my window like it had a contest going on with the Klueless Klan. Next door, those damn kids were shrieking up the place again, informing everyone that sex was being had. Outside, the glancing headlights of the last bus kissed childhood goodbye, and then, the night was dark as a lorrie-load of assholes. And that was when this hunky patron knocked on that same door.
The neon's frantic stutter returned, and I took another drag from the Senior Service. I switched on a token bulb and casually knocked against the wall. "Come!", I shouted, both to the patron and to the kids.
"Miss Lucas?", he asked with a voice like Whiskey.
"The same.", I said, the evening's two packs registering in my voice. "Enchanté.", I added drily, mostly in an attempt to clear my throat.
"Find me a file-manager that doesn't suck.", he said unceromoneously.
I grunted. "That'll cost ya.", I told him between puffs. "They don't make the likes of those anymore."