“Do you remember the brown liquid?” Shania asked me. I clicked off the remote. “The bourbon?” I replied. “Yeah, I remember.” “Should I t...ll you what I was really thinking that day?” “You can tell me anything, my love. It won’t make a whit of difference in how I love you.” “Well,” she said, “that day when the elevator was broken, I saw you at your door. I thought, ‘There’s that nice guy. Wonder if he’d do me.’” “You really thought that?” “I did. I was a slut.” I laughed aloud. “You were never a. ” “Yes sir.” “If your partner here continues to refer to my fiancé as a whore we are going to have a problem. The least of which will be a formal complaint to the highest member of the police force I can find. That will be followed with charges of harassment and slander. Insinuating she is a prostitute in front of other professional people as well as friends and other members of the public, in a public place that we all, as adults, have a right to be in, very much fits that definition.” By now. More

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