I tangle with a lot of shady types. Most of em have the good grace to advertise it by being named something like “Shady”or “Weirdly” or “Criminal McCommitscrimesalot.” And then there’s the ones that look like they could be the preacher’s son.
I don’t greatly care about the difference, myself.
Ape, Harry. Prostitution, Contributing to the delinquency of a minor, Possession charges, Assualt: all the stuff you’d expect from a low-rent pimp. Also mixed up in robbery from time to time. Doesn’t help that he’s butt-ugly.
Bull, Buford. Armed Robbery, Assault. Up on a manslaughter charge once, but got off on a technicality. They say he’s got mob ties, but I say he’s more the type who just looks like he’s got mob ties. Spends a lot of time at the gym, I’d guess. How’s that for a brilliant deduction?
Cat, Cassandra. Don’t know if that’s her real name. Was a mobster’s moll, then she struck out on her own as a cat burglar. If that’s a joke, I ain’t laughing. We’ve had a long professional relationship, you could say, and if it gets a little outside the professional now and again, well… keeping track of that ain’t my job.
Sir Hound. I’m sure he has a first name, but I couldn’t be bothered to find out what. He’s gotten into fencing stolen goods, the occasional forgery, and insurance fraud to maintain himself in the standard of living to which he’d like to become accustomed.
Kat, Koppy. I guarantee that’s a pseudonym. He’s the little brother of the above, but with a little more expertise and a lot less charm. He’s into forgery, and I’m into stopping forgers. It makes for a lively professional relationship.
Ms. Mayfair. Looks innocent enough. It’s what she sounds like that’s a completely different matter, she’s got a set of pipes that make a freighter whistle look like a plastic kazoo you get in a box of cereal. She’s deep in any number of human-supremacist groups, which makes for a pretty unpleasant rap sheet.
Rat, Reeky. Maybe it makes me a snob to hate him, but I hate him. His record reads like a catalog of how to depress a policeman with the futility of his task. Also he’s crazy. I’d say he’s as crazy as an outhouse rat, but that’d just be redundant.
Shrew, Shady. Not the sort of con artist who seduces a woman to trick her husband into investing in an oil company that doesn’t exist. The kind that sends you mispelled emails from Zaire. Course, with a name like that, he can’t exactly go in for anything but cons, can he? Maybe insurance, I guess.
Smitty, Slick. Wait, who’s this guy again?
Witch, Wanda. Funny, thought that was a superherione.
Count Weirdly. Ok: 1, 1, 4, 1, Eleventy-one, 7.564, G, Purple Backward…