Don't Open Till Christmas
DETECTIVE MARK SANTORI had investigated a number of bizarre criminal cases in his six years as a Chicago cop, so not
much surprised him. There'd been, for instance, the bank robber who'd hidden all his stolen money in his oven. He'd then
gotten drunk, forgotten about the cash, burned it up and set
his building on fire. One thing Mark had learned from that experience was that the red dye packs banks stuck into stolen
money to mark it so crooks couldn't use it morphed into a
number of interesting shades in intense heat. And, judging by
the way the dye-spattered perp had been wailing when they'd
taken him into custody, those suckers stung when they exploded in your face.
That had been a stand-out experience with the stupid criminals investigated by the anti crime division of the Chicago
P.D., of which he was a member. But it certainly hadn't been
his only one.
There'd been the purse-snatcher who'd had the crap beaten
out of him by a couple of female impersonators leaving the
Hidey Hole Club. The guy who'd tried to rob a liquor store
using a plastic kiddie baseball bat and ended up getting his
head split open by the owner's real one. The s ... read full excerpt from: Don't Open Till Christmas ebook
