Sleuth Home - Ask Shady
I barely even have a name -much less a good name- and now I see someone trying to take that from me. That's the kind of thing that can make even the coolest customer hot under the collar, and I tell ya, I don't like it one bit.
I've stayed in the background while you all do your thing. Watching the cities. Watching your so-called Gods'. Watching you all. And like the poser says, I know things. People tell me stuff all the time, and I never forget a word.
I've been in the shadows too long. It's time I came out and sang like a bird.
Like the other day, I got a call from some young detective. Sounded like an idiot, if ya ask me. Going on about how she was a 'began' or a 'wagon' or some such pinko nonsense, and wondering what all that mess on the plate in the restaurant was. I'd had a couple and I was feeling generous, so I told her what I'll tell you. Any fool can make out that there's a sandwich and there's some eggs, but even I don't know what that pile of green junk is. I never touch it. She hung up happy.
What I didn't tell her is what's in that sandwich.
Lotta people in Sleuthville probably reckon that gimpy, bet-it-all, get nothing back pony Three Legged Tom over in Shanghai just got that name from bein' slow. No way, gumshoe. He's the real tripod, thanks to a misunderstanding over at Cosa Nostra about what parts of the horse to leave on your enemies' pillows.
And there ain't nothin' wegan about that sandwich neither.
I'll repeat myself once -only once.
People tell me stuff.
Now they can ask, too.
-The REAL, grim, Shady
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