[ WP ] Coming back from the bathroom , you realize you 've accidentally rubbed down with a squeeze of Hand Satanizer

*Damn*, I think. The familiar tingling comes back, my phalanges turning into the crusty red fingers of the big man himself. This is the second time it's happened this week, the first time being Monday, just after lunch; a turkey sandwich, I think it was. I glance over my shoulders at the two smooth bottles sitting there, dual sinks on either side. The bottle on the right gives off somewhat of a smug air. Hand Satanizer. I reminded myself to grill the janitor later. Doubts flooded my head, like a sea of molasses through Boston. I caressed my chin, my hand now completely encased in the warmth of Tartarus. Then it raps me on the head. `` The janitor, that no-good patsy!'' I exclaim into the empty bathroom. I had only met the janitor twice; once was when I was in the hallway, fresh off the case of a dropper who did n't know who to drop. The other was just that day, not minutes before I walked into the bathroom. 
 
 The smug bird must've thought himself quite the smart sucker, dropping bottles of hand satanizer precariously close to the more hallowed hand sanitizer. Little did he know that he had just duped the hottest detective investigator this side of Queens. I pulled a bottle of hand de-satinizer from my trench and applied it vigorously to my godless extremities. As I wiped them down I realized that the clear liquid I had thought I was pouring into my hands was nothing but wet mud. I spied the bottle in my hand more closely. Hand de-*sanitizer*. I gasped and wrinkled my forehead. This man was no short order con, this man was a master criminal. I washed my hands; like I should have at first; and made my way through the bathroom door. This sick son of a bitch was going to the cooler, and I was the sleuth that was on his way to put him there.
