By Justin Edwards and Rune Graulund
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He bounced off a sofa by the wall, then rolled onto the white plush pile carpet and started vibrating violently under a table like a hype with the dries. "Ooow-Ooow-Ooow! " he yelled while the room hooted and cheered. "I'm hoping that's not him," I said to Stender. "That's him," he replied. " I didn't ask what a celebutante was but guessed it was a famous heiress who did nothing but party. "Somebody cut me a line. " Brooks shrieked, as everyone laughed. A fresh line of cocaine was cut on a table as the Heir Abhorrent crawled over to it on his hands and knees.
She squeezed my hand. " "I'll be waiting," I told her. " she asked. " "I hope it's not Hitch. " But the truth was, I'd been worrying about that ever since Sally told me she was taking another home leave. Sumner Hitchens had been bouncing between partners, hitting the guardrail, getting slapped to the center, and ringing all the tilt buzzers, before ending back in the return tray like the kinetically overshot pinball he was. We were currently the only two unattached detectives at Homicide Special.
Scuse the mess," Dunbar mumbled as he led me upstairs to the large master suite. The bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off in a men's store. I followed him over to a table littered with a ton of debris. 50 caliber, water-cooled, antique Browning Model 1809 machine gun from World War I. It was sitting on a low tripod stand. " I asked. It looked like an art piece, a decorative table base for gun freaks or Rambo fans. It was undoubtedly welded in place and missing the firing pin. I was starting to fantasize about smacking this little chump.
Grotesque by Justin Edwards and Rune Graulund