Oinker

I've always wanted an oinker.

"What an oinker," someone whispered off screen. Then something Caffery couldn't understand, which ended clearly with the word "flabby."

The slug they dug out of him was a .22. A woman's gun? Or was I being a sexist oinker?

"I know I'm being an oinker but I didn't get lunch today." My ravenous gaze fell to his half-eaten hotdog. "You going to finish that?"

"Hi. I'm Rachel Porter, with Fish and Wildlife," I said.