Mik Kirk, PI
Finally I managed to get a couple of days off: I needed it because my office was really bad last reduced shootout with the gunmen Sparacello Lenny, the guy who ran the race of phantom rickshaw on Seventh Avenue, right behind the rotisserie Fletcher's, a few meters from the ice cream Debbie's, which has parking greater than that of the pub Goldie's but the staff is less polite than that assumed by the dairy in Roy's, which takes so much to the uniforms of his waiters from avergliene bought a whole container Putzu by Chan, which controls half the Chinese port which always knows where you find the goods more cheaply on the streets.
only that the uniforms Roy had had to bear a dozen Chinese dirty and bruised that they had managed somehow to slip into the container, Putz and Chan had the opportunity to place a couple Lenny Sparacello, which was a favor.
Lenny Sparacello, which had it in me from the days when I had to do four years in prison for having caught stealing bread in half pizza Freddie's (then I was paying the university working as a security officer in many clubs of Fifty-eighth), had trained at once The Chinese couple, turning them into killers and I had sent them into his house, dressed up as Jehovah's Witnesses. I want to clarify one thing: I have nothing against Jehovah's Witnesses or against half a dozen other monotheistic religions. But if there is one thing that makes me go on a rampage is to be awakened Sunday morning by the sound of the bell and hear a guy who, having broken through the door of my house, he began to speak in Mandarin Chinese breathed against a mixture of garlic and fried cat and in the meantime I put a .45 under my nose as big as a Mormon Bible, without even giving me time to take off a bit 'of crust from his eyes and without giving me time to empty the bladder.
By the way I have the bad habit of sleeping naked, but I still have the healthy habit of sleeping with a couple of weapons, firearms or edged by putting in two or three holes in my body, just to be ready for any eventuality, good or bad. So the brains of the Chinese with the gun ended up scattered all over the ceiling, while his accomplice when the legs gave the stairs yelling at him while running with bare feet on the carpet pool. Much ado about the fugitive made that Mrs. Johnson, the old-time masseuse a widow who lived in the apartment on interstate trains 158, opened the door to see what the hell was going on: and seeing me naked, she screamed and fainted.
And so I gave up the Chinese and Lenny Sparacello and walks to the park in the morning, and I sollazzai with the old widow for the whole of Sunday.
While I enjoyed the lasagna had prepared for dinner, I thought I'd never tasted anything so good.
least, since my ex left me to go with Lenny Sparacello ...
