"Come Watson, the game is afoot," Staff Sergeant Amanda Pliggle said in her high-pitched baby doll voice. It wasn't always her voice. She had an accident at three that left her with a single vocal cord stretched tight as a violin string. She stuffed her blouse inside her slacks and smoothed her hair into place just like her mentor, Colonel Sproige, taught her after each of their nooners. She liked the routine and reinstituted it when she was reassigned.
"You and your foot fetish. You know I hate everything Doyle." Gideon Foote, whose mother had a sense of the history and named him after one of the supporters of William the First of England colloquially known as The Conqueror, said.
"That was Captain Kneener. They got hits on the vic's DNA. Turns out that she was executive assistant to a US senator and if that wasn't enough my warm as toast and big as a post darling, she started out life as a man." Amanda grabbed Gideon's outstretched hand and yanked him off the Japanese cushion her mother bought to celebrate the family's heritage on the tenth anniversary of her citizenship. Gideon buckled up his pants.
"Now that's a little sordid for a congressional office. Are they sure?" He knew in his mind that mere sexual orientation didn't rise to the higher levels of luridness in a governmental office after last year's investigation into Mayor Skeeter (AKA Doobie) O'Dingle's office over drugs, prostitution and illegal animal pelts.
"Well if my Yiddish is any good, it's only sordid if she was schtupping the old congress critter and I don't mean that in it's original meaning of poking and nudging." Amanda giggled and skipped out of the room. Gideon slipped his penny loafers back on and followed her to their car.