“I’m a detective!” I said...

The detective is defective,
“So long ago I have changed,” I said.
It was a stormy afternoon, flushed with anger and gravitational screams that echoed from ear lobes to the mouths that captured its air. The puddles had a depth that can swallow a whale and my shoes were crocodiles with their fangs facing a foot ahead of me. I had entered a dinner the shape of a bullet, its light green outline had filled my eyes with blindness. Inside were a group of political savages that didn’t believe in tooth ferries, but believed the money that had been placed under the pillows of children, were theirs to keep. I fled through the doors as if I was a kamikaze strapped with an atomic bomb. My stomach had busted internally and all I can think of was, which way was the bathroom. Startled, the group of men without hesitation pulled out their guns. In that split second I had been erased from their image contemplating of which toilet to extract my waste into. I had failed again but the feeling of losing about 3.5 kilograms was priceless. After the thin sliced toilet paper grazed my skin I had flushed with anger, ready to get back to business. The mirror in front of me had appeared to be defective; it reflected uncoordinated hair lines across my scalp. There was no way in heaven I would appear in front of those savages with a bad hair day. Embarrassed and in control, my fingers became combs trickling up and down my scalp. After seconds past my image was of a models prospect. I had refreshed my mouth with a spray of mint. With a deep breath I had remembered all the times of preparation before the long nights that were ahead of me. It took a smile or two to regain confidence. Although I had not been fifty years of age with bowing arrows and enough power to defeat an entire infantry of 100,000 men, I felt like Rambo. In an instant, after that thought of being Rambo had escaped my mind, the walls of the bathroom started to close in, and there was only one way out. I grasped its location and fully plunged my weight onto the door knob and turned it gently. I then disguised myself as a drag queen and slowly whistled out the door leaving trails of fragrances no man can neglect. As the sky felt my presence and I was embraced by the environment outside, the savages quickly got out of their seats and continued towards the door. Outside, I was loaded with enough cavalry and fire power that can blow a hole in the galaxy itself. As soon as their outlines appeared in the scope of my trigger finger, I unloaded.
“Dead! Dead! Pow Pooww!! They were gone,” I had explained.
With a bewildered look she had turned away from my services and left the bar. At that point, all I can think of was, where had my story gone wrong?