The lunar detective woke up with a hangover. They seemed worse here than on Earth. Must be something to do with the smaller gravitational pull. Luckily they still weren’t quite bad enough to stop drinking altogether.
The cell-phone on his bedside table contained forty-two messages. The detective erased them all with one click of his thumb. He seldom listened to his boss, who had never even set foot on the Moon.
They did things differently here compared to Earth. Even the murders.
Especially the murders.
The latest one was a prime example. The knife of the assailant had pierced the suit of his victim in the abdominal area. The suit immediately decompressed, causing the victim’s blood to boil. It was a gruesome death but one all too common in Lunaville.
The town was originally conceived as the ultimate hang-out for the rich and powerful but the barren Moon surface hadn’t proved enticing. So the government had turned Lunaville into a prison colony. A home to murderers, rapists and criminal embezzlers. They were allowed to roam freely, in the safe knowledge they had no place to go. And if they decided to wipe each other out, that was fine as well.
The lunar detective knew he was merely an elaborate excuse to give the appearance of law and order, as did the criminals. There was an understanding between them, an uneasy truce. If the murders weren’t too elaborate, he’d let them slide. If they were, there’d be hell to pay.
A knife in a belly was considered acceptable by both parties. The detective would check out the crime scene, make a report and that would be it. Some would consider it a cushy job. God knows he did.
As long as Earth kept sending regular supplies of whisky.
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