It must have been my puritan interest that made this pilgrim flip the corpse so it could turn the other cheek.
It wasn’t Kim’s light that had been blown out but Tattle Dale’s.
At that moment Max Tracker and his bulldog Drummond came through the door.
Being booked was a novel experience.
I got the full heatment under the sunlamp, inky fingers, nice photo , number and all.
Dale was quite the looker, so my lawyer, Siren Chase, got me released on a Babeus Corpus.
But something was bothering me about that scar.
Kim had given me the breeze so I wet my finger to follow.
I headed for the Storm Seller in the basement of the Watchful Observatory.
The girl behind the Windy name tag, heavy glasses and lie job, dropped her jaw just in time for me to pick it up.
“Figured I’d have a longer lease in the crowbar hotel, Sweet Tart?” I asked.
“Ah, Mr. Hatrack”, she said as she planted a pucker to make me quince, “marry me, a hushband can’t be made to testify against his wife.”
“Sister, your good, real good, but I won’t turn you kin,
Your too dangerous, relatively speaking.”