This was the longest lasting job under someone else that Fanny had ever had. No citizen wanted to question a towering mass of thinly concealed violence, no matter how pretty ‘his’ eyes were and how long the occasional strand of hair escaping ‘his’ cap was.

And then some upstart from York started looking to rise in the ranks. He was a fine looking man, but the guy liked to do with words the same shit she liked to do with her weapons.

It was Constable ‘Francis’ Cockburn’s time to shamble back to her shitty part of town, hoping work wouldn’t follow her again. The job had seemed like a dream, but this was a nightmare. She wanted a man’s pay – not a full-time man’s life! She hadn’t worn lipstick in months! Hadn’t had a single door opened for her in ages! She was pretty sure next time she opened her legs, moths would fly out!

But, what was this? Constable Crane’s light was on again?

That guy was a sucker. Still in full uniform, she veered to his door. Would he realize she got on sheerly because of the confusion of his absence? Probably not.

Would he be naive enough to back her if Constable figured out she was disqualified? Fanny wasn’t a praying girl, but …

She pounded on Crane’s door.