They say this city is rotten. I say, ‘they’ are assholes of the highest caliber. Reporters and scaremongers who want to dirty up the reputation of the greatest city in America just so they can get a taste of the almighty dollar or their fifteen minutes of fame. All willing to tear the wings from our fair Los Angeles for their own sakes.
Sure, we have our fair share of problems; burglary, armed robbery, assault and murder. The homicide rate city-wide is almost close enough to supply one corpse for as many days as there are in a year. The dead of this city are of all stripes. Hoods, pimps, pederasts and pachucos end up in the city and county morgues shoulder to shoulder. Occasionally someone who people ‘care about’ gets snuffed.
The bimbos from all over who see Hollywood as their birth-right because their aunt told them they have the voice of an angel, or they won the pageant in whatever horseshit pimple of a town they grew up in. Some college kid whose head is too far up his own ass to realize where the no-go neighbourhoods are. The broad who’s a little easy and picks the wrong night and the wrong guy to become positively loose with.
Lo and behold, they all end up the same way. Cordoned off by tape and gawked at by strangers and flashbulbs. It’s fucking unseemly. It gives the city a bad rap, creates a hostile work environment. My line of work just isn’t possible when you have reporters sniffing around at your goddamned heels, although I will concede they do have their uses occasionally. Let sleeping dogs lie is what I always say. Last year they had the Dahlia to swarm over. They really screwed up my job on that one.
It was supposed to be the kind of job that makes a career, the one that’d make everything worthwhile. Instead, they went and fucked it all up. Bastard reporters - trampling around the precincts answering phone calls that weren’t for their ears. Trampling on evidence that wasn’t for their eyes. They ruined everything. It was like Cleveland all over again. Fucking inadequates, all of them.
Yet again I failed.
He didn’t find me. Never had a fucking chance. All of the time I spent with her, perfecting all of the little details. And the moment those other cunts got involved, it was for naught. I sent the cretins her things and still they were clueless - still he was oblivious! It’s enough to make my blood boil.
But I’m a professional. I need to move on. Maybe a change of scenery, out to Chicago or even New York. Perhaps San Francisco. Yes - the stars are always clearest by the sea. I’m sure he will follow. I will make him follow.
Written by JR22