Good evening, Mademoiselle.
[I tip my hat and reveal a smaller fancier hat]
You’re under arrest for the murder of 75 people. But fret not, I’m a gentlemanly cop. I don’t even use handcuffs, I just gallantly tie this handkerchief around your wrists. Whimsically polite? Yes. Ineffective? Absolutely. But that’s the price of being a gentlemanly cop.
Please enter my squad car. Oh, you’d rather “continue tasting the sweet fruit of murder,” you say? I suppose that’s fine, but wouldn’t you rather enter my squad car? The seats are velvet and the sirens only play Mozart. No, you’re right. Gentlemen never impose. As you were, madame.
On second thought, I can’t let you do this. I mean it’s terribly late and you must be exhausted from those 75 murders today. I’ll drive you home in my squad car. Mhmm, you live in that home for the elderly and defenseless? The one next to the elementary school for the deaf, blind, and trusting of strangers? Delightful, I know the way, as my sickly mother lives there.
Seems we’ve arrived, miss. Allow me to walk you to the door. Oh, you’ll be entering through that open window. Well at least let me help you climb through. Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me if I let you fall and land on that bloody knife you’re holding.
Goodnight. And please take this jacket covered in my hair, it’s very cold tonight. Hmm? You’ll use the DNA to frame me for your gruesome crimes, you say? I guess if you insist.
