He's alright, our Gum
EXP: 24,290, Level: 6
Level completed: 62%,
EXP required for next Level: 2,710
“Alright, Milt… I hear ya.†A honey and sandpaper voice hushed his words over a supposedly secure line. “This is some shitty fucken wrong ass tree to bark up.â€
The poky L.A. office was choked in smoke, lined with Amazonian hardwoods, and lit by the good fortune of dim streetlights filtering through the closed blinds; the resident private detective was a comforting trope his clients appreciated.
“Just drop the comm link before I change my mind!†the detective continued, while Milton—buzzing on the other end of the line—kept talking incessantly.
CLICK.
Jamaica Justice rolled over to his authentic 1920s filing cabinet (life was a game, and he had to keep up the immersion). The steel drawer rolled open on its runners, and Jamaica began thumbing through the grubby documents.
Didn’t expect to get a call about some of the Old Boys.
But thumbing wasn’t fast enough though, so he started to flick, alternating between index and middle finger.
He was a fast flicker.
I am a fast flicker.
Rollen Detszl a.k.a. Lil’ Dog
Justice clenched his lips and sighed through his nose. He had been hoping for a supernatural intervention and that the file just wouldn’t be there. After all, Milton was a good friend, from a good time. He knew it. He stewed on it.
But...
I don’t wanna die for this shit.