“Do you have an idea of where the missing women might be?” Gregson asked.

“Not a clue, and if you’ll excuse me, I do have some work to do.” The Governor showed Gregson the door. “Can you see yourself out?”

“I can find my way back to the barracks.”

It was nice talking with you, Gregson.”

The PI walked down the spiral staircase. Was it just his paranoia, or was 90% of what the Governor told him, bullshit? Gregson trusted his instincts, more than his brains. That’s probably why he nailed more women than a carpenter, and the odds were significantly in his favor. Had he signed any paperwork recently? He was trying to remember, when a blond in pink yoga pants ran past.

“Beautiful day for a workout,” Gregson said.

“When was the last time you worked out?” she scoffed.

“You must be new here.”

“How did you know?”

“Just a hunch. I’m a private investigator.”

“Are you on a case?”

“Emphasis on the private.”

She looked down at his Johnson. “Well, you seem a little slow to be catching criminals.”

“I can give you a run for your money.”

“Really? How much?”

“100 dollars.”

“Can you afford that?”

“It’s my 10-minute rate.”

She took-off running, and Gregson chased her. His cargo shorts were chaffing, but he kept his eyes on her behind, knowing it would take him over the finish line. With 500 yards to go, she looked back, and he made his move. Then he heard her screaming. “That’s not fair!”

Gregson didn’t stop to listen—he touched the building.

Tear were streaming down her beautiful blue eyes— turning red, like in the horror movies.

“Are you okay?” Gregson asked. He went to touch her. “Don’t touch me! Assault! Assault! Police! Police! That man chased me!”

A security guard ran to the rescue. “How may I assist you, mam?”

“That man’s a pervert! He tried to touch me!”

“She’s just a bit hysterical,” Gregson said. “Let her take a shower and she’ll be fine.”

“That’s not rape protocol!” She shouted.


All Gregson could think of was how great it was going to be to shower alone with his imagination.

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