
Chinese Orange's day started like any other. It was a normal day at the Orange Detective Agency. He was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigarette, wearing his cap tilted over his right eye for that extra hard-boiled effect. Then a dame came knocking at his door. He could tell when it was a dame that was knocking. They had a certain lightness to their hand; if it were a big lug he'd just pound the door down, but not a dame. A dame just knocks lightly, two taps barely distinguishable to the ear. Chinese Orange had heard this particular knock many times before. He told her to let herself in, and in walked a tall pair of legs with a dark satin miniskirt attatched to it. Literally. That's all that walked in. The top of the skirt was shooting blood all over Chinese Orange's prized revolver collection, and the whole pile of lower torso collapsed onto the floor, pooling in it's own red juices. Chinese Orange got out from behind his desk to inspect the body. A clean cut. Yes, the top half of the torso had definitely been severed...but the question is by who? And where was the top half now? Chinese Orange pulled out a flask of whiskey from his back pocket and imbibed heavily from it. It was going to be a long day.
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