It’s A Cat. Boy, You Couldn’t Slip

Shot Me Twice. I Want My Name, Or I'm Going To Start Charging You A Fee Every Time I Field Something For You. And It's Going To Be Expensive. I'm Park Place. Bud-dy." His Red, Goat-slitted Eyes Squinted At Me From Over His Smoked Glasses. "you're More Like Oriental Avenue Right Now, Dove. What Are You On?

Hapa Was Like Mint. You Could Rip It Up, And Six Months Later, It Was Back, Healthier Than Ever. Mint Smelled Better, Though, And You Could Make Juleps Out Of It. I Don’t Know What I Could Make Out Of Hapa. Compost, Maybe.

Have You Been Sniffing Fairy Farts?

I Won’t Snatch, Harm, Or Scare To Death People With You Or Use Checking Up On You As An Excuse To Cause Trouble. You’re Worse Than My Mother, Rachel.” “mine, Too,” Jenks Muttered.

Get Your Hand Off Me,” I Exclaimed, Voice Loud With Misplaced Anger As I Yanked Away From His Grip. “i’m A Professional, Not Some Distraught Girlfriend.” Well, I Was That Too, But I Knew How To Act At A Crime Scene.