The doorbell rang. As I opened Duncan stood there with an annoyed expression on his face.“You’re late,” he admonished me.“Well, I have a lot of homework to do so I won’t be joining you tonight,” I replied.“But I have organized supper,” he replied, almost disbelievingly.“Yeah, I’m really sorry and I should’ve let you know, but I’ll be taking care of my own dinner,” I countered, nonchalantly.There was a remarkable change of attitude on his face, before he replied with a stunned expression, “But I’ve really arranged a really great lasagne for us.”“Oh, shit… sorry,” I replied, as dispassionately as I could.Duncan stood looking at me as a dawn of realization altered his features. I stood my ground and just looked at him insouciantly.“Listen, please at least come over and have dinner with me,” he pleaded.This really pleased me. The fucker was now on the back foot for a change and I was dishing out the shit.“Well, okay,” I said as I coolly collected my keys and locked my front door.Next. " John Simms sighed. "I know, Sarge. She looks good for it. But we can't even get the coroner to call it homicide. Cause of death exhaustion. What the fuck is that? No weapon, no motive, nothing."Most of the heat came from the lawyer a week before. His family had political clout, and wanted action, particularly because of the big gift the guy had made to the Platt woman the day he died. It had been in New Jersey, but he was a New York resident. Jurisdiction was tricky too. The detective Sergeant sighed with frustration. The foreigner didn't seem to have any family they could find here, though nothing had come back from the Indian government."Well, stay on it, buddy. I need some movement on this. Interview her again." John felt his stomach jump. He could see her during working hours as well as at night. His prick lurched. As he drove into Manhatten, his mind filled with her beauty, her erotic fevor, the fantastic cums.Sylvia greeted him at the door. She liked his big, rough clumsiness,.
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