"Constable Crabtree," said a familiar whiny upper crust British accent. George groaned internally before engaging with the enemy.

"Ah Miss Hamilton," he said, putting down the fountain pen (belonging to Henry) he was using to unjam his typewriter with. "What a...surprise." It wasn't really. This was the eighth time she had been in here since the traumatizing nudist affair. Eight times! How many qualms could a single woman have? And why were they always directed towards him?

"Can I help you?" he continued, desperately wishing the answer was no.

"I certainly hope so," she said very seriously. "The constabulary must shut that place down immediately."

Based on past experience he knew this could take awhile so he propped his head up with a hand, making sure to cover his mouth as well in case he had the urge to laugh, something he very nearly did the last time she had bothered him, complaining about a male neighbour who had forgotten to close the curtain before undressing, demanding he be arrested for ludeness.

This manoeuvre was doubly effective in removing the temptation to use said hand to strangle her with in case he refused to look into whatever ridiculous issue she had this time and wouldn't leave the station house. There weren't many people who had this effect on him but she was one of them.

"What place is this?"

A church with too boisterous singers?

He stifled a smirk as best he could.

"They call it The Blind Pig."

At least it wasn't called The Dead Pig. To this day he occasionally had nightmares about the poor soulless pig he shot while wearing a dress. The lads still gave him trouble over that! And his nakedness too! Wasn't the grace period for those...unfortunate events long gone by now?

Speaking of Grace, I should visit with Emily soon...it's been awhile...

Focus George!

"But a den of inequity is what it is!"

Well, now, thought George excitedly, things are starting to get interesting!

"They play the devil's music. And couples dance in an unseemly manner."

As in they are within ten feet of each other? Again, he had to bite his tongue to keep himself composed and orderly.

"Unseemly?" he choked out.

"I haven't seen it with my own eyes thank the Lord but I have it on good report that men and women are...touching in public."

Simultaneously doing his best not to laugh and groan he said, "Miss Hamilton, it's dancing, there's going to be some degree of-

"But it's the way they do it," she said shortly, as if that made everything clear as day.

There was no use arguing with her any further. Once her mind was made up, there was no changing it. She was like a bloodhound with the scent of a killer; she would chase the wrongdoer to the ends of the earth...to Mars even.

He didn't care what the inspector said, George was quite confident there was indeed a Martian Jesus and he would very much like to meet him one day.

Focus George!

"I see," he said, unable to release a sigh of resignation, knowing he was ensnared once more in her tedious traps.

"I hardly dare imagine what else goes on in that place!" Emily showed up at this point and he did his best not to lock eyes with her. He knew that if he did, she would probably make him laugh and he wouldn't be able to stop. His eyes burned terribly as he tried to keep them focused on Miss Hamilton. "Licentious music breeds all manner of vice! It must be stopped before the whole cities infected!"

The zombie army they dealt with a few months back instantly popped into his mind, unnerving him greatly. Somehow he would rather deal with those unfortunate souls again than with Miss Hamilton for a moment longer. Whenever her spirits were raised, so too was her irritating voice. Already he was on the verge of a crippling headache.

"Well, I will consult with the inspector," he said with what he hoped was a note of finality.

"Please do that constable."