Tech Deck Live Register

Detective Detective Detective NewCastleBrown

Detective NewCastleBrown

hardboiled noir gothic Meaning-less

Part II

darkness, horrible darkness, and you must believe me, total lack of ham sandwiches. This
I was waiting in the cold place where they were dragging me.
I was warmly embracing the floor when the door finally closed, and who had brought me there had been the other way. Despite what seemed a rude tantinello, gave up the effort and devoted myself to open my eyes.
The room reeled in some way improper.
I tried to sit up.
The room did a somersault beautifully coordinated.
I tried to get up. The room
performed in a double pike with a final spin, but after some acrobatics things stabilized and I was able to observe more clearly the space around me.
And I was caught in horror.
curtains pink polka-dotted green on all windows.
No indeed: no windows. He looked like a morgue.
No indeed: it was. It was a corpse lying next to me, sull'alluce the label said, 'murdered by little'.

Passing over lack of professionalism of those who drafted the label picked up the body just enough to keep him seated. The face looked. It seemed that death had not been able to remove that stupid expression must have been alive.

I stared at him with inquisitive eyes. Every minute that passed his expression seemed more and more idiotic. Who could have killed him? It did not seem more dangerous than a cocktail of lemonade and cranberry juice. My spirit detective would not be at peace until I had discovered.

But in those conditions as you could investigate?
I had to try to get out of that room. No
too trivial, everyone would try to do it.

Suddenly, the stroke of genius, surely someone must have seen the murderess.
And I know who: the victim. I just have to question him.

I took with my body and look more fierce and said:

- Tell me who you are really damn little bitch! -

-. . . - (Silence)

- Ah so you're tough eh? Speak! -

-. . . - (Silence full of meaning)

- Be careful methods know very convincing! -

-. . . . . . . . . - (Very long silence)

-Ok then force me a. .. -

- whargroffgrrhuhuhugruntgrunt -

- With good manners you get everything -

- uofuofwhargrrgrunt -

- Who was the last person you see before you die? -

- uofuofarghrghriddt -

Suddenly I realized that the last three sentences he had handed Charlie the dog and the latest sound very similar to how a dog would have pronounced "you're an idiot."

And the dear old Charlie decided to cover the froth while the door opened and who I had brought them opened the door and said

"Now it is time to come to terms -

Not finding suitable hiding places I decided to stand still: perhaps my attacker could only perceive moving objects as some kind of reptile.

Apo Clonazepam Pms Clonazepam Difference Between

NewCastleBrown Part II Part I bet

Detective NewCastleBrown
a Swedish melodic noir that
Part I

the door was written: "nworBeltsaCweN evitceteD.
From the inside was not the same effect that was outside.
I was sitting behind the desk in my office on the rocking chair when the door swung open.
lost my balance and slipped on the floor with the dignity of a lemur hit by an articulated British.
-Detective? - Said the voice, soothing as velvet soaked in slurry.
I faced the situation with courage and coolness, playing flawlessly in the part of the carpet. Detective
-please, my old mother needs your help, Charlie has escaped again and the therapist says the pet-terapy is his last hope! Please, get up, I is crushing his big toe with your elbow! -
I stood and watched the little man with a professional look. Basso, peeled, with big glasses to the bottom of the bottle.
-If I can do something for the sake of that poor lady, I will, to the supreme ideal of justice and the supreme boyscout. oath-he said, brandishing a massive Bible epic.
Then haul the heavy force with the bible man's head and ran heroically outside my office. Now
walked for poorly lit streets in the evening twilight and the atmosphere seemed right to begin an interior monologue.
sorry for the poor Sr. Rodent, I had no intention of affecting his scalp, but I would rather swallow a box of nails trimmed back rather than face the horrible creature that he insisted on calling 'mother'. His therapist had given a half pitbull and half puppy Charles Manson, a former champion of the fight between dogs in gambling dens, hoping that in a tragic accident swapped his mistress for a huge pork shank cooked well. Unfortunately things did not go well and the poor dog exhausted by horrific torture-based pink tutu and smoothing from poodle ran away whenever the door opened the minimum required number of inches.
As I reflected on these and other sad events of life felt a strong stinging calf.
I had found Charlie, he had found me.
I turned to look at him and his terrible mouth full of teeth twisted in what looked like an evil smile, without detaching from my meat.
After a few seconds in which time seemed to have stopped, pulled me in a dark alley. I prepared myself for the worst and yet, against all expectations the monstrous pit bull rescued me from his mouth making me crash into one of those windows that illuminate the ground level basements. Then step back angrily, taking up the back and tail lift with obvious air of superiority.
From the window came a sickly green light, and I could not help but peek. Inside
sinuous sway the silhouette sexiest I had ever seen. He had more of a curved path rally in the Apennines and was so powerfully that even the sensual reality that surrounded wavered in his presence. Shortly Further on, surrounded by wormhole clown make-up and flying saucers, the head of local criminal seemed shocked as much as the fabric of space-time it is hosted.
- We have to hide it! - Said in a moment of sudden lucidity, and those were the last words I heard before someone hit on the head with the latest novel by Stephen King.
While I heard a faint voice whispering in my mind: the end of the first part.