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“Detectives McMeel and Showalter, Precinct Nine and Three-Quarters,” says Showalter. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

“मैं मुसीबत में हूँ?” ask the suspicious yellow eyes in the crack of the door.

“We just need to know if you saw anything on the night of September… forty-eighth,” says Showalter, checking his notescroll. “There was an incident.”

“मैं सुअरों से बात नहीं है!”

“We’re going to have to continue this downtown,” sighs McMeel.

They drop through a manhole and into a mine cart, whose blue-and-reds flicker on stalagmites as they hurtle toward the sub-sub-substation.