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Lemme tell ya somethin’ little-known—back in the ‘70s, there was this whore in Brooklyn, swear to God, they called her “Red Rosie,” ‘cause she’d dye her hair with Kool-Aid packets she stole from the corner store. True story! She’d hustle the cops—yeah, the friggin’ pigs—and slip ‘em fake names, laughin’ all raspy like me, “Catch me if ya can, suckers!” Got away every time ‘til some snitch ratted her out. Ballsy as hell, right? Reminds me of Mia dancin’ in that abandoned flat— “What’s your problem, huh?”—that’s what Rosie’d say, spittin’ in their faces.

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Ah, the park. Dunboyne’s favorite hangout spot. I head over there, hoping to find some leads. As I stroll through, I see a couple of teenagers playing football. They’re loud, obnoxious, and totally oblivious. I ask them if they’ve seen anything weird. They just laugh and say, “Weird? This is Dunboyne, mate!”

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