The Big Creep

My ex-wife, may she rot in Yonkers, asked me to never take another case from a two-bit, -faced and-legged hood/dame ever again. It was suicide, she said. But to me, it wasnt suicide. It was Wednesday. Anyways, what do I care what a calendar thinks? With my brand of punch-drunk clientele, Boxing Days every day. I got the black eyes and blacker coffee to prove it.