Okay, so you don’t speak French and you couldn’t care less about French writers. Down with Rabelais, Marcel Proust, and whoever came in between, before, or after! Okay,  all you wanna know is that Commissioner B. is about to head south!!!

Okay, okay! But don’t you want to take a quick look at one last excerpt? To make sure that after downloading Commissioner B. Goes South as soon as it’s available, you won’t regret wasting nearly $3 with no chance of getting a refund from those crooks at Amazon…

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Bongarçon had time to stop by the nick to check the contents of the briefcase. When he pulled into the parking lot, he ran into Chomsky and Repu. They were wrestling with Santa Claus. Handcuffed, disheveled, his beard askew, Santa had left one boot behind in the police car. He was clinging to the door with all his might, determined not to spend Christmas Eve in a cell.

“Cut the crap, you bastard!” Sub-Brigadier Chomsky was not in the mood for niceties that evening, it seemed.

“Can we get some information?” Bongarçon inquired.  “Did Santa Claus double park his sleigh or something?”

“We picked him up on the sidewalk in front of the Modern Galleries, sir. He was exposing himself to customers. The security guard didn’t know what to do.” With that, Chomsky landed another slap on the miscreant, who let go of the door and slid to the ground. Now they’d have to carry this fat drunk!

Commissioner B. would have gladly lent a hand to his men, but it was much too cold in the parking lot. He slipped away and entered the station. At the front desk, Travers was tidying up his counter before calling it a day. He eyed the shabby briefcase.

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Still wanna risk your almost 3 bucks ?