Detective Wallace was ravenous. The waitress with the short skirt and thunder thighs kept bringing him dish after dish. Scrambled eggs and toast. A burger and fries. Steak and eggs. Each meal was accompanied by a hot cup of coffee.
“Quite the appetite you got there, Sugar.” The waitress scooped up the third plate of polished-off cherry pie.
Rain pelted the flimsy windows of the deserted diner.
Wallace stretched back, undid his belt buckle and seemed to relax a bit for the first time in a long time. He pointed to his coffee mug for another refill.
“Rough night.”
A teenage boy and girl. Two dead bodies. Abandoned building. Drug paraphernalia. Another Tuesday night. But the way the killer had carved their faces into hideous caricatures, well that sent Wallace's appetite through the roof.
He sipped black coffee and thought of the recently linked cases. The boys downtown had dubbed the guy Mr. Smiley. Sick fucks. Who was to say it wasn’t a Misses.
The radio strapped to Wallace's belt buzzed:
“Wallace, report to the corner of 1st and 3rd. Homicide.”
Shit. Well, at least it was only a few blocks away. Wallace got up with a mighty heave and threw a stack of bills on the table.
As he was leaving the diner his shoulder bumped into a guy wearing a black trench coat.
“Watch it!” Wallace barked.
The man looked up. The wide grin on his face made Wallace sick to his stomach.
This story is my entry for 
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