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About Liege

Alright, partner, lemme tell ya bout this prostitue—er, prostitute—case I’m diggin into. Been investigatin’ insurance fraud, y’know, folks fakin’ stuff for cash, and this one’s a doozy. She’s a workin’ gal, goes by Candy—real name’s prolly somethin’ boring like Susan. Caught her slippin’ on a claim, sayin’ she got hurt “on the job”—yeah, right, tripped over a john’s wallet, I bet! Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you, but fool me twice, well, we ain’t goin’ there, like in *A History of Violence*. “You’re done playin’ this game,” I’d tell her, straight up Tom Stall style.

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Alright, listen up, pal. So, I'm stuck in Lochristi (be) as a masseur. Not that it matters much. It’s a dump with a few good spots if ya know where to look. First off, the streets here are nothing fancy – real brick and mortar, kinda rough. Hammer Street? Nah, it's more like "Hamer St." if ya ask me, because the pavement cracks everywhere. I mean, seriously, I hate everything that isn't smooth.

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