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Follow its scent says the tall knock-out of a blonde bombshell.
She says it as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I'm no hunter,
I'm a detective. But I've got brains and some brawn, and I'm sure Ms.
Griffith has enough cash for some nice undercover work...
"Fine," say I. "I'll watch over you, but it ain't coming cheap. I'll set you up and we'll wait - together. Your loverboy is sure to--" "It's NOT my loverboy!" squealed the dame, mad as hell. "How dare you refer to it like that - that, that thing murdered my boyfriend, my uncle, my brother." "Hold yer damn horses there!" I yell back. "You take me as I am and I ain't no Popeye-the-Sailor'man. I speak hard, I eat hard, I drink hard, and I play hard. Got it?!" Ms. Griffith breathed in and out a few moments and then answered: "I got it. But you better get me; I'll pay you but don't you dare treat the memory of my family with disrespect." Aristocracy! Damn woman thinks she owns the world cause of her money and bloodline. Bloodline... hmmmmmmmm. A thought strikes me like a leather glove gilted with platemail. I don't speak my mind to the young Ms. Griffith, but a new angle just came into the frame - maybe something old has come back into play, something from the Traveller's author days. I shiver a bit, that Traveller, he knew how to write up some vicious fiends.
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7/29/2006 10:21:33 AM
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