Punjaban Gori Kudi Ki Jhant Wali Chut De Dana Dan Chodi

I ended up curling up in bed and falling back a sleep. I woke up a few hours later to having the phone shoved in my face by my sister. “Here, it’s for you!” she said, grumpily with annoyance. “Hello,” I said as I pressed the phone to my ear. I had to pull the receiver away for a brief moment to yawn. “Hey Sexy, when are you coming over today? It’s almost noon!” said the voice on the phone. “Almost noon? So does that mean you’re finally awake? I came by this morning around 8, knocked on your door and your bedroom window,” I informed him, the annoyance clear in my tone. “Really? Crap I’m sorry, I was hella passed out. I was up late talking to my Dad, but I’m up now, 'in more ways than one',” he chuckled. I laughed, and let him know I would be right over. After hanging up, I laid there yawning again and rubbing my eyes. My sister grabbed the phone off of my night stand and wandered off muttering to herself. I took that as the perfect opportunity. I jumped up, put my shoes back. I was leafing through the local section until I found the police blotter for Saturday and Saturday night. It was some I did every two or three days. I liked to follow the reports in spite of not being a detective anymore. Abby had left to attend a brunch for a lady that was retiring from the charity business. One small paragraph caught my eye and I read it in detail. ‘Cynthia Robinson, a local resident and wife of mogul Jonathan Robinson, was found dead late Saturday evening. The body was discovered leaning out of the passenger door of her car which was parked beneath the ramp up onto the Eads Bridge. My feet come off the desk sat up straight and put my coffee cup down. ‘What the hell was Cynthia doing under the Eads Bridge?’ I ask out loud. There was no one in my office so I didn’t get an answer. Picking up my phone I call Frank Wends, a St. Louis Police Detective. He and I had worked together while I was a detective, in fact he was my training officer. He was now the commander.
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