Suds and Sam on the Lam
Not my fault, she says. I was
just takin' a few photos, she says. Now, we're on the run and there's a
price tag of a cool half-mill' on her pretty, little head.
God
help me. After our last fiasco, we agreed. From now on, we're only
investigating divorce cases, missing pets, and petty shit where no one
gets murdered, shot, or thrown in jail.
That's the reason we
invested in a new telephoto lens and why she was taking pictures,
willy-nilly, in front of a drug dealers place of business.
If
that wasn't bad enough, while waiting for our client's cheater to zip up
his pants, she hears a shot. Now, anyone else with half a brain
would've run for the hills. Oh no, not my Sam. She follows the sound,
calls nine-one-one, and while she's waiting, takes crime scene photos.
Whatever she saw is about to get us killed.
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