Danger in the first degree. Open on a sultry, rather unremarkable big-city afternoon. Focus on a sweaty, sort of sloppy small-time PI's office. The drowsy detective is rudely jerked back to consciousness by his telephone's nasty jangle: "Sam, you're a dead man." Seems things have suddenly gotten very personal. A definitely unsettling how-do-you-do. But who in the world could be the perpetrator? And why? "Sam, you're a dead man." There are 20 serious suspects. And, unfortunately for Sam, it seems each one wants to throw the first clump of dirt on his coffin. "Sam,...

Danger in the first degree. Open on a sultry, rather unremarkable big-city afternoon. Focus on a sweaty, sort of sloppy small-time PI's office. The drowsy detective is rudely jerked back to consciousness by his telephone's nasty jangle: "Sam, you're a dead man." Seems things have suddenly gotten very personal. A definitely unsettling how-do-you-do. But who in the world could be the perpetrator? And why? "Sam, you're a dead man." There are 20 serious suspects. And, unfortunately for Sam, it seems each one wants to throw the first clump of dirt on his coffin. "Sam, you're a dead man." A smart gumshoe will turn his old casefiles - and the city - upside down to find the fiend. A smarter gumshoe will also turn and constantly check his flanks. Seems Sam's been put in the rather precarious position of trying to skin a cat without getting skinned alive. "Sam, you're a dead man." And the one man who can help with a few precious clues and tidbits of info just happens to be blind. "Sam, you're a dead man." "Sam, you're a dead man." Guess who's Sam. Have a nice day.