Find both truth and fiction in the following account:

Today, I discovered several sets of stolen keys discarded near the dumpster behind the office of my current employer. The keys were not just any keys, but ones stamped with with the warning "DO NOT DUPLICATE." Alongside them were a recent bank statement (about $3,000 in the account), various documents containing sensitive personal information (social security numbers, dates of birth, names and numbers) and three baseballs, slightly scuffed. Inside the dumpster, there was trash.

I deduced that the items belonged to different people. Not the trash -- the trash isn't important.

Like Mike Hammer, I tracked down the items' owners. I called the locksmith who forged the keys and followed the leads. My investigation revealed that they had been stolen from a facility manager's car the night before. The other documents were stolen from different cars in the same area on the same night.

I had uncovered a crime spree!

Like Bruce Wayne, I called the owners and invited them to collect their stolen property, and then I alerted the authorities. A young blonde sheriff's deputy was assigned the case. When she arrived two hours later, she immediately unstrapped her holster and ripped off her shirt, revealing milky-white breasts heaving with anticipation.

Like John Holmes, I pleasured her.

She informed me that a man living in a nearby apartment building was recently arrested in an identity theft sting. He had purchased a $30,000 boat using somebody else's name. The deputy wondered aloud whether my discovery was connected to her case, and then kissed the flesh of my inner thighs with her large, perfectly shaped lips (The cases weren't connected. I could have told her that. My man was a small-time operator, an opportunist who committed foul deeds in the southern reaches of the metropolitan area. Her guy lived nearby, and was already in jail.)

"But," she added between kisses, "Another identity thief was recently discovered living a few miles south of here." She suspected he might be responsible for the stolen property by the dumpster.

"Let's go," I told her. "Time is running short."

I dressed. She strapped on her sidearm, but left her uniform shirt on the floor. Topless, excepting shoulder holster, she winked at me; and the two of us sprinted to her cruiser.

"I'll drive," I said. "You navigate."

I wore my dark sunglasses and a street-smart smile. As we blew down South Parker Road, the deputy brandished her badge, tossed her head and winked again. She threw the badge out the window as if to say, "I now fight crime the effective way -- the vigilante way." Her hair was beautiful in the wind.

For my part, I abandoned my slow-paced life as a millionaire horse-racer.

Off we went: a pretty young pistol-packing deputy and a brilliant and handsome -- if unschooled -- criminal investigator. What an unlikely, yet successful pair. She was a Charlie-Angel, I was a Tom Cruise detective. We captured many dangerous criminals.

What a story to tell. Every word true.