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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 wasn't suicide. It was Wednesday. Anyways, what do I care what a calendar thinks? With my brand of punch-drunk clientele, Boxing Day's every day. I got the black eyes and blacker coffee to prove it.