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Somehow, the boiler room was even muggier than the August night. Probably because of the boiler. Detective Feldman loosened all three buttons of his high-end blazer, letting the badge he wore around his neck dangle free. He was the best.
"Feldman -- homicide. Whatta we got here?"
"Another hooker with a West Hartford-shaped chunk removed from her thorax," the cop replied. "Looks like your boy has struck again."
"I'll be the judge of that, rook."
The flatfoot led him to a heavy steel door at the rear of the basement.
"You better put a handkerchief over your nose, Detective."
"Don't tell me."
Drat! Feldman had been planning to put a handkerchief over his nose, but there was no way he was going to do it now.
He drew his service weapon and kicked open the door, bloodying the nose of another cop who was standing right behind it. There she was: supine, legs akimbo, a West Hartford-shaped wound accessorizing her well-toned belly. Must've worked out, this one.
Feldman holstered his weapon and plucked a ballpoint from his inside pocket. He knelt beside the body and prodded around the edges of the wound with the pen. He felt his wiener get all hard.
"Oh, this guy's good.”
"You almost sound like you admire him," the cop sniveled.
"I do admire him. You have to admire the pattern. The genius. What'll be next? Newington? Granby? Is he going to do East Hartford? I've got to think!"
Date Written: December 30, 2003
Average Vote: 4.5