He was hard-boiled. Hard-boiled and gritty. Like a bowl of Grape-Nuts laced with sand and a boiled egg. The egg, to be fair, had been boiled too long and too hot, and was therefore cracked and had leaked before hardening. Misshapen, gritty, and not quite right in the head, then. All in all, a bad egg, rolled in sand. With a penchant for cracking skulls and asking questions later. A practice which rarely led to answers. And yet, he somehow managed a permit to carry concealed. Thank God for an Idaho residency and the lobbying powers of the N.R.A..
Insanity, as he inevitably ended up explaining to anyone unfortunate enough to spend time with him, is a legal term. And since every prosecution he’d ever faced ended being dropped due to a lack of breathing witnesses, he was obviously not insane. No, he was the Tough Detective. See, it says so right here on his business card:
Niche Market, Tough Detective
No convictions
No job too small or too pointless
Cash Only
1-888-HAM-BONE (426-2663)
¡Se Habla Español!
He was proud of the HAM BONE. His other choice had been HAM POOT, which didn’t have the same ring to it.
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