This was just a routine pickup for my partner Frankie and me. We'd picked this guy and his wife up so many times for not appearing in court, we'd been on their Christmas card they felt like the black sheep of our family. After searching half the day, we finally found the drunken idiot in an abandoned basement. He was bloody, beaten and bitten. My day flew south real fast and took my lunch with it. These are Stuart Weitzman boots. If I can't get them cleaned, there had better be another pair on my desk by Monday morning!
"Who did this to you?"
"Animal," his croaked, then promptly passed out. What the heck am I supposed to do with that?