the death threat

Dexter Poindexter: “why? what did they leave?”
Vulcan Conray: “It was all over the doorstep — a crappy briefcase satched in petrol, a plastic bottle filled with more petrol inside it, boxes of matches ripped open, a pig’s head, some rope, a blank bereavement card, a brick …and an 8” by 10“ glossy signed fotograph of Ricky Martin.”
Dexter Poindexter: “Oh! That might be worth something.”
Vulcan Conray: “Nah. One of those laser-printer signature jobs.”

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