Congratulations on Finding the Hooker-Killing-Bible-Serial Killer!

Starting yesterday there will have been an unprecedented eight murders (making this the fastest emerging debatable serial killing pattern in the history of the world), all of them involving the use of consistent blunt force trauma from a large book or Jello mold applied to the base of the skull until the victim died. The victims will have all been prostitutes in New York’s Brooklyn neighborhood, distinguishable from hipsters by their possession of money and their horrifying lack of irony.

It’d be a dark day for the New York Police department if it wasn’t for you. You’re a fresh faced young detective straight out of whatever kind of training program New York detectives attend and you want to make a name for yourself. So you’re going to go out of a beat tonight, dressed like a hooker in the neighborhood where the murders have all occurred. You’ll be a little subtle about it, looking at charts and maps before you do it, but it’ll largely be a cursory gesture, something to convince your boss you chose this job for more than the freedom to dress like a hooker that you knew it would afford you.

So with some cursory research and your taser in hand you’ll step out on to the street and start crime solving.

First you’ll walk around for a while, just to get a feel for being a hooker. Then you’ll walk around the affected neighborhoods, a ten block area of Flatbush largely populated by Jews who complain about being harassed by a young Mormon pilgrim during the day and report seeing startlingly attractive prostitutes at night.

You’ll know something is wrong when you happen upon a perp who fits the description of the Mormon to a T and he doesn’t tell you you’re going to hell as he walks by you. You’ll consider calling the station for back up, but your instincts will scream at you to walk slightly further on and then turn around and tase the living shit out of whatever’s behind you.

Sure enough it’ll be that young man, bible in hand, face red and flush. You’ll press the taser into his balls and activate it as you whisper in his ear.

“My sister is a hooker.”

Later on at the station a bunch of hookers and corrupt cops will be celebrating at your desk while the rest of the force just looks kind of uncomfortable. They’ll all be happy for you, and most of them will be kind of turned on, but they’ll all know that what you’re doing is basically illegal. They won’t say anything about it, because they’re not sure if saying something would constitute sexual harassment or whatever, but they’ll think it loudly. And after work ends they won’t stick around to celebrate with you as long as you thought they might, which will make you feel a little isolated. After all, all you really wanted out of life was to belong to something, even if it was an organization as shameless and terrible as the NYPD.

Congratulations on Finding the Hooker-Killing-Bible-Serial Killer!