Their makeup was so thick it could have been painted on their faces by the drip artist, Jackson Pollock. The ladies' names were Tonya, Ursula, Flossie... and Markiska. I liked the youngest one, Markiska. She just seemed too young to be in that kind of business. I was the only gentleman in the room.They were no ladies, and I'm no gentleman. I'm a P.I., that is, a private investigator inquiring about the disappearance of Wanda Oleski, one of their business partners. Wanda's husband reported her. "I gasped at his brash words."Don't talk to me like that!" Or what?" Or else I'll kick your ass."I was dead serious. But judging from the fact that he once again broke into hysterical laughter, he didn't think so. He surprised me by jumping up and getting completely into my personal space bubble, craning his neck down to get a good look at my face. Not letting him intimidate me, I strained my own neck backwards and met his stare dead on. He licked his lips before saying,"And why, little Violet,. Only after the doctor asked of the boy's father, did she shed tears of sorrow.The men in the large underground chamber had been in constant fruitless debate only minutes before, but the sight of a woman seeking refuge and help stirred them to action and concordance. In her matter there were no voices in disarray, no arduous discussions with no end. They offered their help and assistance immediately, as if she were to them a sister, a wife; indeed like a mother to them all. Someone sent for. Science fiction posters lined his walls. Books and comics had begun to form small mountains over by his desk while clothes where hastily thrown about. He’d have to do something about that before his mother pinched a fit.Stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, he slowly swung himself from bed and lumbered out of the room and downstairs.The kitchen and breakfast table was alive with energy as his mother, father and youngest sisters prepared themselves morning meals and exchanged gossip and.
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