“So, if you are retired, what do you want me to do about it?” Nancy asked.
“I’m a dick that won’t quit,” Gregson said.
Breaking local news in Maple Valley…
“Detective Talbert says he has solved the Wilderness Golf Course Murder based on the DNA samples he shaved from the right leg of a horrible golfer.”
Nancy looked down at Gregson’s right leg. It was shaved.
“It’s you?” She asked.
“I have to prove my innocence,” Gregson said.
“You need to shave your legs. Your right leg looks like the Amazon River, in an impenetrable jungle.”
“It’s penetrable. Heck, it’s hard for me to reach down there,” Gregson said.
“I’ll do it.”
“Does this mean you’ll take the job?”
“I need to question you first.”
Nancy walked him to the tanning room, while Gregson rested on the warm neon lights, and she shaved his legs. It was so wrong, it felt right.
The TV kept going…
“We found a Stetson, belonging to the perpetrator.”
“Wait. That’s my hat!” Gregson said. “I’m being framed. If I don’t solve this murder, I’m finished.”
“I’m finished,” Nancy said.
Gregson looked down at his shiny legs and felt like a woman. He looked at the woman. He wasn’t gay. Thank God.
“So, what did you want to ask me?”
“What are your expectations?” Nancy asked.
“Strictly professional. I need a girl who can type and take dictation.”
“I think you need more than that, judging by your style, or whatever you call it. Where do you shop, anyway? Or perhaps I should ask, when did you shop?”
“I don’t know that my style is the pressing problem,” Gregson said.
“It is—trust me. I’m taking you shopping.”
“Nooooo. Can we go to the gun range first?” Gregson asked.
“Okay, but make sure you don’t use-up all your rounds.”
Nancy’s BMW Z8 was sex on wheels. It was red, with shiny black tires. Nancy was sex on two legs. They fit like a glove.
“Let’s take my car,” Gregson said.
It was a pickup truck he borrowed from Andrew. There were chips sprinkled across the seats, and a melted protein bar on the dash. It was like driving inside a man’s locker. There was a smell, or a combination of smells… But Gregson had long ago learned one thing. It’s better to hold your breath and be a man in charge. As soon as a man gives up his keys or credit cards or balls to a woman, he can expect a crash, a break, or a severing of the worst parts known to man. Gregson said nothing. Women want to believe, men believe, what they believe. But men just want to get laid, and they will agree to anything, say anything, and do anything, to get laid, even if the world collapses.
It is the history of the bible. Women leading men astray. Even the wisest, strongest, and most moral men, had one exception, women.
Gregson took the lead, and Nancy followed. It’s better not to speak. There’s nothing worse than a guy who can’t keep his mouth shut, with one exception—a writer.