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Tuesday, October 15, 2024

I wouldn't believe you if you told me you were lying

 Do you think the arab is dead?

No, why would they be?

They said they had cancer. So technically they should be dead, right? Like who has terminal cancer for twenty fucking years? What a crock.

Cancer of what? Why would anyone believe a word out of that piece of shit's mouth?

Well we know what a liar they are, so no I don't think they're dead. Probably didn't have cancer, but if they did, you're right. They most certainly carked it by now.  But if they're alive on the othehand they are lying coiled up like a snake in long grass, getting ready to spring as soon as they find us.

I think maybe you're right, but I am not 100 percent certain.

Last contact was when? Over ten years ago?

Something like that. No proof of the shitterling being dead or alive.

If they're dead they are keeping it quiet. Infact a lot of people are keeping it quiet, and that's the problem. It's not possible to keep a lot of people quiet. Keeping one quiet is one too many.  

Perhaps they're in jail or something? Or in the big Dutch Nutella pancake house.

The lawyer says they are alive.

It suits their narrative, the lawyer is a lying bastard as well.  I think they could be in it together, and so it suits the lawyer that the arab is alive, in actual fact if the arab is dead it changes everything. It complicates things.

How so?

There are some legal implications. Not to mention a lot of money. Why do people commit atrocious crimes in the first place?

I have a theory on that, there are only three root causes - Love, sex and money, or all three! Hmmm maybe envy... Greed... but then that comes under the love and money label I guess.

Correct. The lawyer was receiving the cash late at night in Paris, stumbling through the streets in the dark, full of Pastis, shit scared someone would recognize him. He's been shaking people down for a long time. He's looking at 20 years if this shit hits the proverbial. Minimum. 

In his Hermes belt.

He will Epstein himself with that. He may have to. 

Let's hope so, but not quite yet. Something I noticed.. Not 100 percent but I think he's possibly a closet gay too. I have found a mysterious guy who seems to stalk him all over social media,  cloning his media accounts but using his own personal profile photos, and man oh man is he a pretty boy, straight off the Trocadero. I've got a theory that Mr Lawyer was using pretty boy as a salope, and dumped him when his rented by the hour ass  started to become a nuisance. Hence the revenge media posts, which whilst they aren't accusatory or defaming, god no he is dealing with a lawyer, the posts are obviously an irritant, you know, the sand to his Vaseline?

 The pretty boy has been dumped by the family man lawyer.

So where do you think the Arab is? Here in NYC?

No of course not. I think they're in Paris. Hiding in plain sight.

I'm not sure, visa's aren't that easy to obtain. What about the Swiss connection?

It's gone quiet. There was a ping from near a millitary base there which was worrying, but nothing since. Could've been bots.

Hmm. And so now what?

I think we should investigate the Hart Island connection. And plus you owe it to Bobby. He's still on there.

Oh God, please don't.

Come on Frenchie, I'll take over everything that needs to be done today. You take a breather, because I think things are going to get messy. And for a hardline cop, you are as soft as a sac au mierde.

You know what? 

What?

Tu es fou mais je crois que je t'aime.

Yeah, whatever.


In the bustling streets of Paris late at night, the highly respected lawyer who had a penchant for alcohol and a weakness for cocaine and young men, especially after indulging in one too many drinks,  found himself in a seedy alleyway with an unusually beautiful, intelligent rent boy. In a drunken stupor, he convinced the prostitute to help him collect a large sum of money from a wealthy businessman. 

As they made their illicit transaction, the Lawyers excitement released within him a torrential flood of adrenaline.  Now he was unable to resist the temptation of cocaine, and more boys, and  as they both got high on the drug, laughing, and celebrating their ill-gotten gains spread out across the luxurious bed at the  George Cinq, sipping the Cliquot,  soon there was another smooth skinned runaway joining them.   Life was good.


But as the night wore on, his lies began to unravel, and as the stolen money slipped through his fingers like sand, and the paranoia of the cocaine binge descended oupon his head like a dark cold concrete block pounding his brain, he began a desperate attempt to cover his tracks, Mr big shot lawyer abandoned the salopes and fled into the night, leaving behind a trail of lies, promises and shattered dreams of the two young men. 

And as the sun rose over the city of Paris, he found himself alone and panicking, who in the hell sent him the message saying she knew what he was doing and she was about to reveal his secrets? 

A woman? Which fucking woman?





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