The 11th Commandment - a small preview

I drove home chewing on my nicotine gum, and trying to work out the mysterious Avril “Blaze” Wood. Former teacher of Women Studies in college, and now a big-breasted vixen in skin-tight jeans, chainsmoking and explaining me how, together with her partner, the hunkiest web designer I ever met, they were delivering fifty thousand dollars in counterfeit banknotes when the Sheriff’s men had pulled them over.
I would have to review my notes after dinner, but it looked like there was little we could use. The deputies had been thorough and professional, as far as I could tell.
Once home, I peeled off my trench-coat, and I dropped my skirt, suit and blouse in the basket. They smelt of Wood’s stale smoke. So did my hair and my skin. I slipped out of my undies and spent ten minutes under the shower, rubbing my head vigorously and pouring abundant chamomile-perfumed shampoo.
When I got out from under the jet, and wrapped myself in a towel, no trace of the foul smell remained. I dried my hair with another towel. I put back on my glasses, the lenses steamed, and I arranged my wet hair so that it would not fall in my eyes.
Then I went and checked out what was in the refrigerator for me. I tucked the bathrobe in place. I thought about Avril Wood’s ample bosom, and how she would probably have to use a larger towel. I wondered if they called her Blaze for the fact that she was constantly lighting up.