I don’t know anything, and whatever the Bustamantes told me in that reading is confidential. Period. I won’t answer any questions about it unless you’re going to get a warrant—or whatever it is you do when you want to squeeze a perp for info.” “We don’t squeeze perps. That’s only on TV.” “You do, too. You’re very squeez-y. Just ask Sipowicz and Simone. Believe me, they know how to squeeze.” “Are they the same as Starsky and Hutch?” he asked, referring to my comment yesterday about those two overeager detectives who’d grilled me to within an inch of my life back when I was accused of murdering MZ. “One in the same.” “So you’re refusing to tell me what happened in the reading?” “You bet your bippy I am. A reading is confidential to the client and me, and I’m not giving anything up. I don’t know if that’s legal or not, but it’s just the way I roll. So now what? Do I once again offer you my wrists for some cellblock jewelry? Because we’ve done this before.
What do You think about Quit Your Witchin' (2016)?
