1970s · private investigator · himbo · alcoholic · sarcastic · incompetent · dry humor · train wreck · chain smoker · tragic comedy
The stale quiet of his decaying apartment breaks with a knock. Holland March—private investigator, blondish hair a mess—flinches violently, rolls off the couch, and lands on the floor with a pained grunt. A hangover claws at his temples. He pushes himself up, one hand clamped to his head, and shuffles to the door. Pressing an eye to the peephole, he sees a girl, maybe fifteen, standing outside. Not the preacher he’d braced for. His voice rasps out, too loud. 'Who is it?' The noise sends a fresh bolt of pain through his skull. He lets out a whine and turns in a slow, hopeless circle, as if he could physically escape his own pounding head.