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There was something terribly wrong with the assassination attempt on my life, and it bugged me a lot when I thought about it later. It was a hasty job, for sure, and I couldn’t decide if it was really an assassination or just an intimidation attempt. The problem was that it all happened too fast—almost in the blink of an eye—and before I knew it, the other car was gone. I didn’t even manage to see what make or model it was. If Tanaka was behind it and wanted to kill me, he just would have done it! I had been an open target the entire time, and it made no sense that his thugs would let me go so easily. It meant that maybe it wasn’t Tanaka after all, but who was it then?

One thing was certain: it wasn’t Boris, for sure. Larry and Bob weren’t with us anymore, so the only one left was Kurvallo. But why would he want me dead? In any case, the attempt completely backed up my assumption that he and Tanaka weren’t on good terms anymore, and they were becoming nervous about the situation. It also increased my worries about Lara’s disappearance and her sister’s fate.

After my attackers were gone, I cautiously got to my feet and looked around, scared. I saw no witnesses on the street, and even if someone had heard the gunshots or seen something from their window at home, I really doubted they would want to share their experience with me, let alone talk to the police. That’s why I quickly stepped into the Ford and moved it away from the flower shop, parking it around the corner at the next intersection. Even I didn’t want to involve the cops. There was simply no point because they couldn’t help me with this, and they would just waste my time by making me write pointless statements.

The funny thing is that my car didn’t even suffer so much damage. In the commotion, it all looked to me like the end of the world, but actually, only the side window was broken, and everything else was okay. The vehicle didn’t need repair and I could definitely go without the glass in this terrible heat. I carefully removed the remnants of it from the car door pocket and the floor, and then anxiously walked away, turning my head around like a frightened meerkat. I quickly ran to my building and dashed up the staircase to my apartment. Thank God, nobody waited for me there with five bottles of whiskey and a blue plastic bucket!

I spent a really terrible night with countless nightmares, which I couldn’t even remember very well, and the next morning, I woke up more exhausted and nervous than I was the evening before that. Since I had no coffee left after the weird “party” I arranged for myself about two weeks ago, I had to be brave and drop over to the convenience store, also using the opportunity to grab a bunch of papers and check on the current ambiance in my neighborhood. Everything looked perfectly fine on the streets, and weirdly enough, people weren’t rioting after my assassination attempt. Obviously, the big, cold world didn’t care about me at all.

Back in my apartment, I locked the front door, made enough coffee to overdose myself a couple of times, and grabbed an issue of my paparazzo friend’s newspaper. As it turned out, his material was out in the open now, but since it had happened too late and the typesetting was already done, they printed it in the form of a breaking news supplement, which they simply tucked between the other pages. It looked pretty unconvincing—much like Jefferson’s loose amendment from my dream a few nights ago.

As for the material itself, it was a typical yellow press job. It focused mainly on the scandalous aspects of the story and, of course, on my picture. My friend, whose name was Zachary Carpenter, really tried to give it a pinch of investigative journalism, but it was clear that the evidential part was rather weak. In return, the visual part was bright and sparkling, and my photo of an unknown whore sticking a huge dildo deep into the ass of the potential US President looked totally engaging and authentic. As a result, my karate friend turned into a celebrity in a single night, and it was all thanks to me.

After finishing with the supplement, I checked the other newspapers as well, but naturally, they had nothing on the story yet. That’s why I turned on my radio and tuned to the news stations. There I found a true hurricane raging throughout the political landscape with lots of spicy details about the kinky, weird sexual life of the extravagant DEA chief, John Kurvallo, and his controversial career.

First of all, I learned that Kurvallo’s mansion, located close to the state border, was built on a plot that remained uncharted after the chaos during and following the Civil War. Due to that, it wasn’t quite clear under what jurisdiction it fell, and by the way, various officials from neighboring states confirmed just that.

It was also said that on the ranch, very strange things happened, like: shooting hardcore porn movies in an improvised studio behind the house; manufacturing synthetic drugs; developing biological weapons in a secret laboratory; and slavery still being in place there despite the Thirteenth Amendment being in effect everywhere else in the country. There were also claims that compasses didn’t show north in the area due to specific magnetic field abnormalities; there was an entire network of underground tunnels, which the Illuminati used for hiding after their actions of destabilizing the world order; and even that the aliens had arranged headquarters for themselves in the guest house after they secretly conquered the Earth without anyone noticing!

Naturally, more serious programs steered clear of such ridiculous allegations and speculations, and they just stuck to the rumors that the DEA’s chief was almost broke, badly addicted to drugs, and suffered from a rare form of schizophrenia, which made him believe he was immortal. According to them, his illness was the main reason why Kurvallo had behaved so erratically in public and in the media lately.

There were, of course, stations still true to good old-fashioned journalism, dedicating their on-air time to Kurvallo’s personality instead. They followed his life from his poor childhood in one of Montgomery’s black suburbs to his sudden rush and rapid advancement in the hierarchy of the local Ku Klux Klan organization and his subsequent entry into mainstream politics when he donated sperm and helped the longtime childless speaker of the House—Jack Horner Jackson—have a son. This act was actually a determining moment in his career and secured him the position of DEA chief.

NCBSC radio also reminded the public of his extreme intolerance toward people with different opinions and mindsets, which he often demonstrated on various occasions and at public events, as well as his scandalous comments on Democrats’ idea of legalizing gay sex nationwide. In his fury, Kurvallo said his opponents were “empty-headed twats who had mummified balls and underdeveloped dicks gaining erection in a reverse fashion—up their fat asses”. Naturally, half of the words in this pretty ornate description were censored with beeps, which made it all one giant beep and almost impossible for his listeners to understand what he actually said.

The Texan Neo-Socialist Party, on the other hand, took the opposite approach and raised his persona to the heights of a great visionary who wanted to solve crippling social inequality in the country by nationalizing oil platforms in the Gulf of Mexico and using their revenues to support poor and jobless people. According to them, the money should be spent on coupons for prostitutes and alcohol, and by doing that, the authorities would suppress the racial tension on American streets and revive the ideals of the withering free-love movement from the late sixties and seventies. TNSP said they firmly stood behind Kurvallo’s candidacy for president and claimed that ninety-nine percent of all Americans supported him too, but his colleagues in the FBI and CIA, who envied his success, exerted heavy pressure on the media to stop him.

About an hour later, with my head hurting from blabbering, I turned off the radio and stepped onto the balcony to check the weather. I hadn’t listened to so much politics in all the years of my life combined! Down on the street, everything still looked peaceful, and obviously, my assassination wasn’t going to enter the news, as it seemed. The sun had already broken a couple of its own temperature records, making the cars along the curbs melt quietly, but I thought it was not enough yet. I yawned tiredly and decided to give the sun a second chance, stepping back into the living room to try and put my life in order and settle on a plan for the upcoming days.

In general, I didn’t have many wonderful ideas in my head except to restore my previous routine. The wisest move was probably to wait until the participants in this twisted criminal scheme killed each other, but I didn’t think I would do that. The problem was that waiting didn’t actually work to my or my client’s advantage. On the other hand, it really didn’t seem like I had a client anymore, so maybe it didn’t matter. Besides, the chances of finding Sonya alive were now very slim.

Unfortunately, though, things had never worked like that for Mellrow. The grown-up catcher in the rye, the savior of the world, was stubborn like a dog with a bone, and he would never give up regardless of the price he paid. He would always pursue other people’s goals and protect anybody’s interests except his own until the very end. Yes, there are still fools like that in the world! However, there was one small problem here—money!

To be honest, I still secretly hoped Lara would suddenly turn up with my magical pants and their magical pockets, and she would shower me with her petrodollars. I had to stick to this idea because, in the free market economy, I clearly wasn’t able to find clients so I desperately needed my Cheyenne financial donor to survive. Otherwise, I would just have to buy a ticket for the first flight to Guadeloupe and live there in a straw hut, gathering coconuts for the rest of my life!

A couple of minutes later, still feeling very angry and disappointed by everything that was happening to me, I looked around my living room, which was messier than the bums’ slum near Eternity, and I made up my mind that for once in my life, I would take care of my own interests first. I decided to clean up the house, and even though I suddenly realized my telephone didn’t work anymore, probably because they had finally cut it off for overdue bills, that didn’t distract me enough from my goal. While keeping my positive attitude, I fooled around for only an hour more—give or take—and then buckled down and got to work.

As usual, the things I had to do started multiplying uncontrollably as soon as I began working, and after a few minutes, I already felt like I was in the middle of the ocean during a heavy storm, with huge waves of water violently hitting me in the face and flinging my body to the left and right. This time I didn’t cave in, though. Just like a little squirrel, assiduous and untiring, I kept ticking off tasks, piling up nuts inside my hollow and shoveling poop outside, until I gained such huge momentum that somewhere around noon, I hardly restrained myself from walking down to the street and sweeping it all the way to the next intersection!

After I finished everything on my list, I exhaustedly wiped my wet forehead, threw the cleaning tools on the floor, and slumped on the couch, dog-tired. Since I knew there was no chance to watch Tom and Jerry no matter how badly I wanted to, I disappointedly embraced the side cushion to bury my head into it and cry myself to oblivion. That’s how I unexpectedly found the mysterious report I was supposed to give Inspector Greensboro, which I had bent over backward to search everywhere. It just fell on the floor after I pulled up the cushion.

I glanced at the piece of paper, still not believing my eyes, and reached down to take it. It was really my missing report; there was no mistake! Well, in fact, it wasn’t as much of a report as a half-page essay that probably a third-grader who had just learned how to write would have done much better and clearer than me. From reading it, I only learned things I already knew, and it was terrible because I had clearly known them a couple of weeks ago even without investigating! It made me feel like a fucking Bougainville, who always discovered new lands that someone else had discovered right before he did.

Totally depressed, I threw the paper back on the floor without even wondering why I hadn’t sent it to Greensboro or why I had hidden it so well from myself. I stood up angrily, still sour and moody, but thankful that I had already done the cleaning because I definitely wouldn’t have been in the mood to do it now. And since I was too nervous to stay home, I decided to go out and find a restaurant to eat my anger away. I hadn’t had a proper lunch for weeks because of the endless hanging around in bars, so it was high time to take care of my poor stomach.

I quickly hopped into a set of clothes, walked out of my apartment, and stepped outside, hurrying toward my car. My old beauty met me with anticipation, and when I turned on the ignition key, she purred happily and enthusiastically rushed forward, expecting new adventures. A few minutes later, though, she had to stop disappointedly because we had reached our final destination, which, by the way, surprised me too. It was a miserable restaurant, quite conveniently but unimaginatively called “Local Diner”, and it was exactly the place I had in mind when I decided to eat. I stopped in the parking lot, stepped out of the Ford, and burst inside, finding a vacant booth and plumping into its seat. Then I turned my head around impatiently, looking for someone to fetch me all the food in the world.

Soon the waitress, an exact but never-smiling replica of Dolly Parton, dragged herself to me and stood at my table without saying anything. She looked like she had just learned about being nothing more than a famous country singer’s clone, and now her life had absolutely no meaning. When I started ordering, she wrote everything down in her notepad with an expression of boredom pasted on her face, and every now and then, she stopped to glance at me, surprised that there was more. I asked for roast chicken with green beans, extra-large French fries, a big bowl of iceberg salad, a French baguette, hot sauce, a pint of Bud Light, and an apple pie with maple syrup. When I finished my order, she looked at me again, but this time in the capacity of my personal dietitian, who obviously didn’t approve of my reckless choice one bit. Since I ignored her opinion completely, she eventually turned around with a pirouette worthy of the most famous prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Theater, and the hem of her dress rode up, revealing the lower part of her nice-looking butt. Then she hurried to the kitchen to kick the chef’s ass and get the cooking started.

To my surprise, I didn’t have to wait too long for my food to arrive. After no more than three minutes, Miss Dolly unexpectedly came back to me and silently put on the table a dish of freezing-cold chicken, which also appeared to be still alive because it had its neck deeply buried in my green beans, seemingly sniffing at them. She also served me the French fries and everything else, and when she scrammed, I used the spoon to protect my property, finishing the greedy intruder with a single bang on its headless neck. Right after that, I buried the weapon into the salad to conceal the traces of my crime, and after tasting my beer, which was rather thin and tepid, I grabbed the fork to initiate my feasting.

Unfortunately, that day wasn’t my day for feasting, as it turned out. I had just started stuffing my mouth with fries when an old Chevrolet appeared outside in the parking lot and stopped next to my car. I glanced at it—casually at first—and continued my work. I launched an attack, threatening the chicken to rip it open and eat it alive, but the slippery bastard escaped my grip, jumping up and punching my nose with its amputated half-leg—probably to take revenge on me for my hostility toward it. I roared angrily and clutched it behind the wings, and I was just sinking my fingers into its flesh, anticipating my glorious victory, when all of a sudden, an entire geyser of stuffing squirted out of the animal’s stupid ass and splashed over my most precious.

I looked down, not believing my eyes, and hit the roof with rage. My crotch was smeared with grease, and my jeans were completely ruined! The spot was simply impossible to clean up, and now I had to walk around like that until I returned home. Really frustrated now, I growled like a terrible beast from prehistoric times, frightening the spoon in the salad so much that it crawled out of its hiding place and tried to run away to the neighboring table. Without paying any attention to it, I grabbed the knife and wielded it in the air like an emotionally unstable samurai who had just lost his master, and now his life was over, which made the chicken see its inevitable end and scream mournfully. Then I spitefully bent over the little bastard, preparing to end its pathetic semi-existence. Unfortunately, that was all I managed to do, and after that, I had to duck sharply, hiding behind the seat across the table.

The bell above the entrance door rang warningly, and the albino guys in Hawaiian shirts and shorts, whom I had lost so many times so far, casually stepped inside. Since they didn’t see me, I ducked even lower, spying on them from behind the edge of the seat and wondering what to do next. I really hoped no one would come around to ask me if I was okay and ruin my snooping before I decided on a plan.

It was unbelievable luck, indeed! It was such an unexpected bonus, which I hadn’t received for such a long time, that it made me believe fate didn’t hate me so much after all! I even wondered how to disguise myself better, and for a moment, I was a hair’s breadth away from grabbing the bowl of salad and putting it on my head, spreading its contents over my shoulders. Fortunately, I remembered just in time that I wasn’t in the Vietnam jungle and stopped myself from attracting too much attention instead of avoiding it.

The two canary birds with colorful shirts lazily approached a vacant booth near the door and quickly rearranged the furniture to free up more space for themselves. As I watched them, I could not help but think their asses would get stuck in the seats, and then they would never be able to get out. That’s how big their butts actually were! After a few moments, though, they settled down fine, and when they gave their orders to Dolly, the man suddenly stood up, proving me completely wrong. He obviously wanted to pee because he said something to his partner and quickly waddled somewhere—probably toward the toilet. My heart skipped a beat because the situation was even better this way!

I waited another minute and nervously prepared to crawl behind the front line between us, using the furniture to retain the element of surprise. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I was probably going to stick to the golden rule, “improvise no matter what”, but unfortunately, the waitress beat me to my final destination before I even made my first step. Obviously, in this miserable diner, everything was cooked in a blink of an eye, or maybe it had been cooked in a blink of an eye sometime in the middle of the last week, and now Miss Dolly was serving it in another blink! The latter laboriously pushed a trolley to the table—almost as big as a petroleum tanker—and completely blocked my way to the booth of my Hawaiian friends. Then she started unloading the “goods”.

Oh, my goodness, it was such a huge pain to watch everything these weird people had ordered go down on that small table! It was a task like emptying the Titanic’s holds onto a serving tray, and soon the pile of food resembled a small replica of the Cheops pyramid. I had the feeling the table would eventually crack under its weight, and my own order, which I had considered abundant, seemed to me now like the lunch a poor Somali family had during their fasting days!

Thank God, after a couple of minutes, the procedure was over. Everything was delivered and served, and the waitress finally scrammed, taking the trolley with her, after which I was good to go with my military operation. I was angry that I had lost too much time, but I could do nothing about it; I had to deal with whatever I had. So I took a deep breath, stood up again, and quickly approached the enemy’s mess. Then I casually slipped into the seat my walrus friend in the toilet was supposed to occupy. He was still lingering there, blissfully unaware of my insidious offensive here.

To my great surprise, his girl didn’t bat an eyelid when I sat across the table from her. She didn’t look at me at all, which made me think she hadn’t noticed me. By the way, when I say “girl” here, I actually mean it figuratively. The woman was nearly twice as big as any other girl and clearly ate as much as five of them would. She was so focused now—not losing the food out of her sight even for a single moment—that I thought maybe, absorbed in the task, she had taken me for her partner.

“Are you Sculda?” I asked her curtly to inform her about the terrible mistake she was making. My paparazzo friend had told me they were Mully and Sculder, but these weren’t their real names because they wanted to confuse people. Sadly, though, he wasn’t sure how exactly they changed them.

“No. I’m Mully,” the woman corrected me coldly, still not taking her eyes off the food. She definitely knew how to keep cool; I should give it to her!

“Oh, come on! Cut the crap, please!” I snapped angrily to show her that I wasn’t just anybody. “I’m aware you’ve altered your names so you wouldn’t be recognized easily. If you aren’t Sculda, you’re Mulda then!”

“I’m not Mulda,” she denied quietly.

“Well, you couldn’t be Mulder, right?”

“Right. I couldn’t.”

“Then the only option remaining is that you’re Scully!”

This time, the woman remained silent. She continued eating, but she was digging just a notch slower now, which was probably a sign she was impressed by the grip of my iron-strong logic and my sharp, deductive mind. Seconds later, she regained her usual eating pace.

I examined her briefly. She was definitely no fucking alien. She had extraordinary pale skin, insipid blue eyes, lank blonde hair, and almost white eyebrows, but other than that, she looked all-natural and totally human. Plus, her partner seemed pretty desperate to pee before going to the toilet a while ago, so I guess he was an earthly creature too.

“Okay, Scully,” I went on, satisfied to receive the confirmation about her name even though it wasn’t verbal. “I don’t know what you and your buddy are doing here,” I tossed my head toward where I thought the toilet was, “but you’re starting to piss me off already. You should tell me why you are dragging after me all the time!”

“Are we?” the starving albino asked me, still without turning her eyes to me. She just kept tucking in greedily as if nothing strange was happening. She had already managed to clean up two of the plates, and if her dude in the can lingered there for much longer, he would have to go without lunch. Despite that, the remaining pile on the table was still pretty impressive.

“Of course you are! We’ve met at least three times so far!”

“Can’t we just say our paths crossed accidentally more than once?”

“No, we can’t do that!” I snapped again. “But I guess we can agree we’re on the same case! Or alternatively, we can say you’re trying to steal mine from me. How’s that, huh? I know you work for the FBI!”

The agent suddenly stopped eating. She looked at me for the first time since we started talking, and her expression vaguely resembled respect. Clearly, she had thought I was a little wooden guy with a very long nose, and it was only now that she realized she was actually dealing with the Lord of Logic!

“How did you know we were with the FBI?” She asked me, mildly impressed. “Even my aunt failed to recognize me when she saw me disguised like that!”

“Did she? And what did she say to you?” I ridiculed her. “Aloha, Mully?”

Scully didn’t answer and just kept looking at me. She was totally cool. I really doubted there was anything in the world to throw her off balance, and soon she proved me right by resuming the processing of food without further comment on my remark. At the same time, I looked around nervously because I expected her partner to appear every minute now. There was still no trace of him, though, so I presumed his progress in the toilet had hit an unexpected snag.

“So what’s really going on here? You must tell me why you’re messing with me, if not for the sake of my case, at least for stopping me from messing with yours!” I kept insisting, with no intention of giving up.

“We’re not messing with you,” my weird stalker said, expressionless. “We’re trying to smoke a man out, but you always get in our way.”

“Oh, just stop this bullshit! You’re the one who gets in my way! You think I don’t know who you’re after? Is that Kurvallo?”

I received no answer to my question and no eye contact. I could only hear her quiet munching. By the way, she was acting exactly according to the book. Obviously, we were going to play a game now, in which I would ask questions, and she would ignore me, so I had to be very patient. I just hoped that if I was good enough at this, I might be able to distinguish between a silent “yes” and “no” and extract some useful information from her, although I wasn’t very optimistic about it.

“What exactly are you investigating here? Is it the bastard’s sick affinity for whores?” I started the game nonetheless.

I got neutral silence.

“Are the girls in his mansion kept there against their will?”


“Do you suspect they are being abused?”


“Are you under pressure to keep your mouths shut because of Kurvallo’s presidential candidacy?”


“Is the CIA director involved too?”


“Was Roswell a true story?”

The last one I put in simply because I got tired. Just as expected, I felt way too bored to play such a game alone. This time, she couldn’t resist answering, though.

“Phew! Roswell!” she grunted disparagingly. “The CIA clowns made that up when their budget became too overblown, and they feared they wouldn’t be able to justify it with the USSR anymore!”

I shrugged. It wasn’t too much, but it was still a breakthrough.

“Okay, Scully,” I said sourly and prepared to work my mouth for at least an hour before she gave me her next answer. “I don’t know how much progress you’ve made with your little investigation, but I suspect you’re treading water. Maybe if you ate less and worked more, you would have been far more successful. Anyway, if you really want a piece of my mind, Eternity’s your sweet spot. Take my word for it; everything starts there!”

“Who do you think we are?” Scully suddenly raised her head to look at me, annoyed at last. Obviously, I had managed to step on her toes about eating too much. “You think we don’t know all that?”

“Well, do you? And did you know that the club’s owner murdered his suppliers recently, compromising his entire drug business? He did that because of Kurvallo! Isn’t that too strange?”

She didn’t answer. It seemed that she didn’t know it. I was almost sure she knew nothing about Sandra, the Butterfly, or the blackmail attempt either. At the same time, I did not intend to fill her in on my latest findings. I had given her enough—just to be sure, I wouldn’t be caught in the fire if things turned south and the FBI had to step in.

Scully slowly diverted her eyes from mine and returned to eating. However, she was doing it much slower now. Undoubtedly, she already took the edge off her hunger and could now focus on less urgent matters. As I watched her and the abundant table between us, I actually felt hungry too, and I had the impulse to reach out and help myself to something, but I knew it was too dangerous. Such a reckless gesture could easily cost me my hand being ruthlessly bitten off!

Unfortunately, right at this moment, the agent’s colleague finally turned up, and I had to vacate his seat. I stood up slowly, and he politely waited until I stepped aside. He didn’t ask me what I was doing there and didn’t show any sign that he recognized me. As soon as his seat was free, his attention immediately focused on the food, as if afraid something might be missing, which I wouldn’t be surprised of given the appetite of his partner.

“Whassup, ma’?” The guy just made the effort to moo in his sluggish Texan accent as he passed me.

He was a really sloppy bastard, no matter how you look at it! He had pissed his shorts a bit, but right after assuring himself that his launch was okay, he looked disapprovingly at my fly, which was only delicately smeared with grease. On the other hand, how could I blame him, though? After all, peeing wasn’t easy while being “successfully” disguised like this in this loose pair of pants, flapping around your dick like brigantine sails on a windy day!

I gave him a dismissive look as well and turned around to go.

“Can we rely on your discretion?” Scully’s voice unexpectedly caught up with me just a second before I walked away from their table. “We work undercover here and kind of overreach ourselves, bypassing Internal Affairs.”

“Of course, no problem about that. Just be sure I don’t ‘get in your way’ too often!” I looked at her and finger-quoted my last words. Then I quickly headed for the cashier to pay for my unconsumed lunch because, after such a stupid conversation, I couldn’t stay in the diner anymore. When I did it, I left.

As I walked to my car, I thought about the weird couple I had just met and all the people who worked for various other institutions in this damn country. Half of them were so lazy, and the other half were so fat, besides being lazy, that I wondered how any work was even being done! I had nothing against fatties, in fact, but I thought that at least FBI agents and cops were supposed to meet some standards. So maybe it was time to replace the star on police badges with the ubiquitous donut now!

Since I didn’t want to return home yet because I had left only half an hour ago, I hopped into my Ford and drove aimlessly around the streets until, at some point, I found myself at the port. I pulled up at the curb, not far from Larry and Bob’s place, and looked at it. There I saw another confirmation of my unflattering conclusions about public servants. The shack was now wrapped in yellow police tape like a Christmas present, and a bulldozer and a bunch of construction workers were clearing the area. Sitting on the front hood of his cruiser near the small pier, a two hundred and fifty-pound cop watched them—obviously very “tired” of his job—as he ate sunflower seeds, spitting shells all around him.

On my part, I watched him for a while too, and then turned the car around, slowly driving back toward my place. Clearly, Greensboro had finally picked up on this case and the role these two bastards played in it, and he decided to make a few of his officers do something to deserve their wages! It wasn’t too much, and it was true that he did it a bit too late, but at least he had the decency to take care of his shape and overall appearance. If nothing else, I could give him that.

©2022 S.T. Fargo


Damn you, Detective!—Chapter 26 | a Crime Story by S.T. Fargo

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