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The Detective

T

The Detective

She didn’t know what she was expecting when she walked into the detective’s office, but this definitely wasn’t it. Upon sight of the figure seated at the desk she stopped cold and stared, hoping that any moment now the real detective would jump out of the closet and shout “Gotcha!” When the thing opened its jaw and spoke to her, she was glad no one was around to hear her shriek. “S’matter, toots? Cat got your tongue?” “I’m sorry.” She racked her brains for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t come across as rude, but her vocabulary had fled in the initial shock. “I just. I’ve never. I--” “You weren’t expecting a dead guy to be at the desk.” He-- or at least, she thought it might be a he by the voice-- lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “It’s fine. I get that a lot.” Before she could embarrass herself any further, the detective blew out an impressive smoke ring for someone who didn’t have lips. “So. Down to business. What brings you to my office today? You need me to
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