What could be more noir than extortion on a wet night in Merthyr? A collision of fools crooks and bodies at a bleak farmhouse deep in mid-Wales perhaps. There's a twist in this tale. The detective has no memory of who he is or even if he has committed the crime he's trying to investigate. And he's dying. All the ingredients of villainy with a comic edge and added pathos. You may need to turn detective yourself to understand the title.
I strolled up and opened my mouth and started to lay it on, as is my wont. It rolled out without effort, the same old tune with a few minor variations, the type of noises you made when you were leveraging a little illicit potential over some inbred indecency. The sort of spiel you gave whenever you were getting ordinary people to do the wrong thing.