She walked into my office on a pair of gams so long she almost gave herself a haircut on the ceiling fan. She was a real classy website, the kind I didn’t normally see in my line of work, but judging from the black eye, her comments section could get a little rough.
She leaned on my desk and told me she had a job for me.
“I need a list of five detectives” she told me. “And I will pay you a modest amount.”
I leaned back in my chair, remembered it was a stool and rolled onto the floor.
“Sounds like a real easy job. What’s the catch, dollface?”
“They all have to be from science fiction or fantasy” she said, like she said things like that to men like me every day of the week. And maybe she did. Maybe that was one of her go-to article formats. Maybe the world was really that sick a place.