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It was a dark and stormy night.
Why is it always a dark and stormy night, you ask? Because it has better ambiance for my story than a bright sunny morning. Deal with it.
I didn’t know why I was sitting in this all night diner, playing with a coffee cup across from a private Dick. But, here I was, and if he called me doll baby one more time I was going to have to kill him just to make it stop.
“Listen, Doll, I know what you’re up to. I just don’t know why.”
“If I had a clue what you were talking about, I might be scared.”
“Eddie Farmer, John Smith, Steven Munster.”
“Never heard of ‘em. What’s a big strong man like you doing asking a working girl like me about all those men?”
“They all turned up dead, Doll baby.”
“So?”
“So, they turned up dead in your beat. Your competition told me they all picked you up the night they died.”
“And? I get a lot of dates.” This guy was really starting to get on my nerves. “It’s what I do.” I’d been a working girl for five years, walking the park and picking up lonely men to turn a quick buck.
“Well, I just have to wonder if it’s coincidence. You’re a hard-as-nails prostitute, and they were all found with their johnsons bitten off. It seems to me, that’s a clue.”
Well, I’m the living dead. A girl’s gotta eat.
I swear, you bite a few little pricks, and they’re all over you…..
