Chicago.

The Second City. The Windy City. City by the Lake. Chi-town. The Big Pizza. The Smelly Onion Patch.
It's a strange town, Chicago. Full of crime, crime that sticks to you like a cheese pizza will stick to your shoe if you try to crush a cockroach on it. Crime that will take the shirt off your back and then take the bloodstained Mexican flag that you're using to cover up because you have no shirt. It's that kind of town.

It's a rough place to make a living.

And who am I? Just an ordinary llama detective trying to get by in this crazy old world.
Detective McLlamason, they call me. But I usually go by my nickname... Dick Llama.

Just another face in the crowd.

Tonight, that crowd involves a dead body. This is not uncommon in the Big C, but this murder is a bit different, although I'm still not sure why. The Chicago PD called me out downtown to investigate it, but they were as scarce with the details as an authentic deep dish pizza is with toppings above the three inch cheese layer.

I met detective Cage near the scene of the crime.

"So it's you again," he says to me, with his usual expression - his usual expression is typically somewhere between melancholic and droll. "I knew they'd drag you out here when I saw the victim. It seems like your kind of case, McLlamason."
Detective Cage never was one to use my nickname, being a dick himself.

"So what's the crime?" I ask. "What's the scoop Cage?"

Cage snorts. "A baker died tonight in Chicago, but the leads are all stale. All we have to go on is the body. There's a witness from the bakery who might have seen him get toasted, but we all know bread men tell no tales."

I guess the killer didn't just get mad, they got oven.