Detective Jack: S2-01: Donny’s Donuts

Fried dough.

Wait, no. Try again: Fried sugar dough. I mean, it’s gross. Objectively.

I was back from Hawaii. Back from trying to find myself (I failed). And I was on a bit of a health kick. Vegetables, chicken, and vodka. The three core food groups.

That’s all to say, I was looking good—sunkissed and down a few pounds.

Yet here I was at Donny’s Donuts, the scene of a crime. Donald Redder, proprietor, dead. Found on the baking room floor. Called in by the acne-ridden 16-year-old tasked with opening up this sugary hellhole.

After the mess with The Circle, the force had cleaned ranks. The LAPD was to be the finest police force on the planet (I chuckled too). The issue? The mass firings had left us hamstrung. We barely had enough cops to secure a murder scene, let alone investigate one.

So here I was, outside a Donny’s Donuts, telling sugar-addicted Angelenos to get out of the damn parking lot.

My own personal hell.