A short, tubby man wielded a knife threateningly in his left hand as he advanced on a fragile old woman.  Then she screamed.  The man laughed cruelly and lightning cracked somewhere in the distance.  The woman fell over, dead of a heart attack.

"O poop."  The man mumbled, three chins wobbling.  "He kneeled next to the woman and checked half-heartedly for a pulse.  "Guess I've learned my lesson about attacking old people.  Anyway."  The pudgy man stabbed her lifeless carcass to a bloody pulp, smiling inwardly at his sadistic urges… finally fulfilled.

                                                                  *****

32-year-old Henrietta Wilson walked down 24 ½ Street with her finger lodged firmly up her nose.  She was unaware of the stares that were directed at her.  It wasn't exactly her spectacular beauty that was drawing glances or even her scraping at her nose's innards.

It was her choice in clothing.

She donned a neon green and pink pantsuit with her silk underwear on the outside.  The combination made her feel like a superhero and she rather liked that new confidence. 

"God dammit!"  She cursed loudly.

"What's wrong?  Asked a man, transfixed on her purple butt.

"I have this sharp booger poking in my nostril but I just can't get it!" 

The man nodded his handsome head in sympathy.  "I understand.  Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

She paused, thinking carefully.  She, like a bunch of my characters, was married to the apparent murderer, or at least in some weird sort of love.  But I am the Queen of Suspense, you will never guess.  Toddy was her love interest, but he was on a business trip. 

"Hell, why not?"  Then she popped her finger out of her nose and cheered triumphantly.  "Aha!  I got it!  Look!" 

"This calls for a drink!"  He said. 

She popped the booger in her mouth and began to chew.

"More crunchy than I thought.  But salt makes me thirsty."

"Perfect.  My name is Edward Preston Doodly III."

"Oh, spanky.  My name is-."

"Henrietta Wilson, I know."

"Wow, how?"

He pointed to her chest.  "Your name tag."

She smiled, struck by how clever this man was.  But suddenly she frowned deeply.

"What's wrong?" 

"Booger's caught in my molar."

"You're really having a rough day there, Hen."

"You're telling me."  She was deeply touched by the nickname.

They went to a fancy restaurant called Konstantine's Kraphole.  Once inside they were seated by a waitress who constantly chewed her gum like a cow and snapped it consistent with her fifth step.  They ordered a fancy white wine called Chablis.

"So, I'm a big, rich lawyer.  What do you do?"  Edward leaned forward.

"I don't have to work thanks to my enormous inheritance, but I'm a bus driver and a pole dancer." 

"Where did you go to college?"  He was enraptured by her amazing poo-colored eyes, pug-nose, unibrow and jutting chin.  Her wispy grayish-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, making it look thinner than ever.  Her beauty and amazing intelligence just astonished him.

"Sam Houston Institute of Technology, but I had to dance for the board."  She said, taking the Chablis and dumping it into her mouth.  She swished it around, gargled, and swallowed.

"So, you have a wonderful name.  Was your father Henry Wilson?"

"No.  His name was Henriettao Plopshnocker."  

"Are you single?"  He asked.

"No, but I'm perfectly willing to cheat on my husband and then dump you saying it was all a stupid mistake and that I was drunk all along."

"Great!  What's your phone number?"

She hiccupped.  "I forget, but I have to go.  I'm late for an interview at Hooters.  See you."  And she ran out the door.  On her way to Hooters she saw a mangled corpse lying in the street with a short, tubby man standing menacingly over it.

"Toddy?"

"Um… no, I'm his evil twin… Wallace."

"Oh, okay.  Since you're my brother-in-law, I'll let you run away while I ponder the horrific thing you have done." 

"Thanks, I owe you one Henri."

"That's what Toddy calls me."

"Clever of him.  Got to run.  Bye."  And he huffed and puffed away.

Henrietta surveyed the dead body lying in the street.  It was the second murder she had seen that was done like this.  She had found her great-aunt's body dead like this as well.  She didn't recognize the man lying there, motionless and bloody.

"Oh well, sucks to be him.  Now where is my damned cell phone?"  She pulled it out of her underwear.  "Aha.  What's the emergency number?  I can't remember… 9- nine something."  After thinking hard for a few moments she remembered.  "9-1-1!  Got it!"  And she dialed the number, though hardly remembering why.  She just knew she had to do it.  And do it she would.