You’ll kill for my Sin City Omelet

This will seem odd to you. I’m not gonna talk about writing, and I’m not gonna give you an excerpt from some crime epic. Nope, I’m gonna tell you how to make an easy omelet you’re gonna love. I call it my Sin City Omelet, an omelet for men who like omelets—not that the ladies won’t like it too. It’s what we call in Louisiana a slap-your-momma omelet. Taste it, and you’ll be pissed your momma made you eat her nasty cooking.

For the record, all men from Louisiana cook. They may not all admit it, but they cook. Good or bad, they cook. In between wives, I actually learned to cook pretty well. Now, I’m happily married to my high school sweetheart. She won’t let me cook on any day that’s not a holiday, but this morning, she went shopping, and I dug out the skillet.

This dish feeds 2 on a date (or one real man by himself). The trick is to pour in the eggs and not touch them. Just pour them in, and cover on a very low flame.

Let’s do this.

Find a 12" non-stick pan, but if yours has lost its non-stick abilities, spray it with some of that non-stick fake butter stuff your wife buys or gob in a teaspoon of real butter, let it melt, and smear the pan with it. Find a cover that is sort of flat to keep the heat closer to the food. Use a heavy plate if you can’t find a lid. Look around. Your wife’s likely got some good china that’ll work just fine.

With a fork, whip up 6 eggs with about 1 1/2 tablespoons of water in a bowl—or a beer stein, that’s what I used. Add salt, cayenne pepper, and a shot of Pinot Noir. This will turn the eggs gray like a good black and white movie.

Crumble 8 ounces of Monterey Jack cheese and put that to the side. Incidentally, if you freeze the cheese first and then defrost, it will crumble faster. (My grandmaw taught me that.)

Anyway, heat your pan on a VERY low flame and pour in the eggs. Cover and don’t open for 5 minutes. When the eggs look done (not runny) spread on the cheese and some very thin onion slices. Cover again, and turn off the heat. Drop the toast and by the time it's buttered you can douse those black and white eggs with some blood-red, spicy salsa (or ketchup if you’re in Louisiana) then fold the omelet in half to hide the melted insides.

Your gonna love this. When you serve it, the egg layers are only 1/4" thick, perfect consistency, and a killer taste.

How does a hotel guest dispose of a corpse?

Finishing the third week of Killamazoo, Vivi and Maude are nursing their wounds, while John’s still trying to get rid of a corpse.

Here’s this week’s recap…

Chapter Three

John Burrows crept through a side door and hopped into the elevator before anyone saw his sack of lime or his Wal-Mart bag. He'd spent the morning twice reading the paper and wandering about town. Finding nothing, no clues to the woman's identity or his own.

On the fifth floor, he stuck his head out into the hallway. Empty. Outside, he moved, stepping fast, but silent. One corner and he'd be at his room. As he made the turn, another elevator opened behind him, and the worst smell ever seeped under his door.

He opened the door, jumped inside, holding his breath, and locking the door behind him. A much stronger odor than expected, but he'd prepared. He pulled one of three Lysol cans from the Wal-Mart bag and began to spray.

Next, he removed a full-length laundry bag, unzipped it, and stretched it out beside the corpse. With a key, he slit open the plastic sack and poured lime into the laundry bag. After dousing the body with more lime, he rolled it into the plastic bag. After adding more lime to her backside, he zipped her up in the bag, and then someone knocked on his door.

"Yes?" John Burrows said at the door. He opened it six-inches, till the latch caught. "What's the problem, sir?”

"Housekeeping says your room hasn't been cleaned in a few days, and we've gotten reports of a foul odor coming from inside."

"Sorry, sir. This is embarrassing. I've got some sort of stomach virus. That's why I asked the cleaning lady to stay away..." John forced a gag from his throat. "...and like I said, stomach. I'm afraid that smell is from my bathroom..." He gagged again. Louder. "Sorry, I got some meds from the doc today and should be back to normal in no time. But thank you for your concern."

"Well, okay, Mr. Burrows," the officer said with his hand over his mouth, "Call the front desk if there's anything we can do."

John closed the door, put his back against it, and slid down to the floor. "How the hell am I gonna get rid of this body?"

Later, he slid open the glass doors to the balcony, cranked up the AC, and sprayed the room with Lysol for the third time. After an hour, the lime tamed the odor, but John felt exhausted. He set the alarm for 3AM and fell asleep beside the corpse.

At 3AM, he woke, pulled a miniature crowbar from his Wal-Mart bag, and walked to the elevator. Inside, he looked over the buttons and clicked the three, the number with the mop bucket sticker next to it. He hoped there was no overnight house-keeping staff, but he wouldn't know till he broke into their office.

Two flights down, he slid the mini crowbar between the door and facing, but before he shoved, he heard voices inside. Dropping the bar into his back pocket, he turned the knob, opened the door, and saw Maude and Vivi trying to open a first aid kit. "Excuse me, Ladies," he said, "Maybe, I can help."

"Ah crap. You scared the shit out of me, you freak," Vivi said.

"What do you want, Burrows?" Maude added, "Not more freaking towels?"