"I never had a chance."
It just got extremely fucking noir-y up in here.
I approached Dolly, the Chief's secretary. "What's the good word, Dolly?" She flashed me a smile sweet enough to make even the blackest coffee drinkable. Dolly had these big, blue eyes that she hid behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. You might miss them if you weren't looking for 'em, but I always was. She kept her red hair tied in a tight bun on top of her head, like she was trying to hide her beauty from the world. A sweet kid, but scared; scared of the big city, scared of men, scared of
How is it raining inside the office?The Chief sat behind his desk looking exactly like one of those hastily-conceived TV Chiefs you've probably seen before; balding, moustache, suspenders. He was maybe even smoking a cigar sometimes. The usual. "It's good to see you, Guinness." They know my family has a history of alcohol abuse. "This looks like a pretty open-and-shut case to me." He then opened and shut the briefcase on his desk repeatedly to demonstrate his point. This went on for a lot longer than you'd expect, and I was growing pretty uncomfortable. "Chief, I'm not so sure it's all that open-and-shut." "How do you mean? Terrorists hate America. Someone is trying to poison America. Logic points us towards terrorists.
"I want you doing everything you can to track this lead down. Shake up all of your informants, get your hands dirty, and get Tacos on the case, too." 'Tacos' was the nickname given to James Rodriguez, because he's vaguely Mexican. This was a shockingly racist office. "Do whatever you need to do to solve this case."
Bruce Ivins as I remember him."Let's just ask him straight out if he's mailing anthrax to people. I am so sick of beating around the bush," I said as we were walking up to his studio apartment. James was quick to correct me. "Let's not give out too much info too soon. I've got a hunch about this one. If we
Like eggs. Most cake recipes call for eggs."We'd just like to ask you a few quick questions, Professor Ivins, if that's alright with you," James said. "Question the first," I barked. "Have you been mailing anthrax to people?" I had to listen closely to his response. All subsequent questions would be based on his answer to this one. If, for example, he said 'Yes, I do that all the time,' then I think we'd have our man. James looked at me, dumbfounded. I couldn't tell how, but I knew that I'd severely disappointed him.
. Chuck Noirish.
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.