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Death Ray Butterfly


One
If there's one thing I hate it's private detectives. And lab guys.
Lab guys think they can figure out who done it just by measuring
how hard it was to mop up the blood. And private detectives
think all it takes is some kind of unique slant on things and there
you go. One time there was this crippled albino midget gypsy
detective from Albania who thought that all that individuality he
had was enough to go solving crimes, but he just got in the way,
like they all do eventually. The main thing that kept all those
cases cold was people sticking their noses in and mucking up the
waters.
Pet peeves. I could go on and on with those. Don't think I ever
found the limits to that! Maybe it's what they want, I don't know.
They told me go ahead and start talking into this little black box
here and just keep talking, long as it takes. Said don't worry
about it. Whenever you start talking, whenever you stop, the
little black box will know. Don't have to turn it on or turn it off. It
doesn't make any noise either so I don't know. Just keep talking,
they said, so that's what I'm doing. Wanted it all for "posterity",
their word. Me and my famous cases, all of that. Another cranky
old man going on about the good old days. Tell you one thing, it
ain't gonna be like that. Never were no good old days I knew
about. Or maybe there were and just nobody told me “here they
are! Enjoy 'em! Ain't gonna last!”
So here I am, seventy-two years old, been retired from the force
a few years now. Worked that beat a long time. Fifty goddamn
years. That is a long time, tell you that much. Started out, there
was one telephone in the whole department. By the ti me I
retired, they got one planted in everybody's skull. So a lot can
happen in fifty years, even if you don't stick to the one same
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