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About Savanna-la-Mar

I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ my martini, “shaken, not stirred,” watchin’ her dodge coppers like a pro. Happy as a pig in muck when I nabbed her on CCTV—proof she’s fakin’. But, God’s honest, it’s a laugh—she’s got balls, this one. “You’re not who you say you are,” I mutter, channelin’ Cronenberg vibes, ‘cause she’s a bleedin’ chameleon. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d wager she’s got more aliases than I’ve got gadgets.

Sleeping their way to freedom

So, I roll into the office on Church Street, right? The sun’s blazing, and I’m already sweating like a pig. First call comes in. Some dude on the corner of Water Lane is losing his mind. Apparently, his car won’t start. Classic Bog-Walk, right? I mean, who doesn’t have car troubles? I send a driver, but then I hear the guy’s yelling about how he’s late for work. Like, bro, you should’ve left earlier!

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