"Someone's trying to kill me." She had said, dropping it like The Escapist dropped an entertainer. She took a drag from her cigarette and released a breath of smoke, covering her face in a momentary veil. She had a hard look, one that's seen a thousand unwelcome inbox messages. I remembered this exchange clearly, thanks to my IQ of 155.

"It's the internet, Sweetheart, it's how they say hello." I put my feet back up on the desk. Looked like it was going to rain, I could see the stormfront getting closer already. Might be a hassle when I go get more Mountain Dew later. The things you focus on when you're not paying attention.

She took a step forward and dumped something on my desk. "Then this is how they're saying goodbye," she said when I realized I was staring down at a clear bag and in that bag was a bloody Wii-mote. Looked like one end got used like a club to bash in the brains of some unlucky tenant in the morgue.

My feet came off the desk. "Alright, you might have something. Why not go to the cops?" I pulled out and lit a cigarette. You see a lot of awful things in this business, but you don't see them dumped on your desk like shovelware.

"You know why as much as I do. More likely to ask what you we're wearing than they are at doing their jobs. It's why I came to you." She dropped another thing on the desk. A roll of 20s. "You also know there's more where that came from." Smelled like Patreon from here. Maybe trust-fund. Didn't matter: the dame was loaded and I had an opening after I had a lucky break in the Amala Network case, and she had me figured out. I was an opportunist; it's why I didn't work a beat with a shield, no money there unless you went crooked. A lot of those in this town.

I took another long drag of my cigarette, then snuffed it out. "Have a seat. Let's start from the top." There was a thunderclap in the distance. August never ends, does it?