Fiction Saturday presents, “Bad News Travels Slow
I was really learning to hate the sound of Dinwiddie’s voice. When I turned around I could see that he had three of his muscle-bound “bakers” with him. They moved to flank me – as if I could get out of there dragging Sweet along like a sack of potatoes.
Dinwiddie had asked me a question, so I figured I might as well answer him. “I think we might make a couple of stops – the Hospital for Mr. Sweet here, and then I think I’ll go home and take a shower to get rid of the stink from coming here. And maybe I’ll stop by the FBI office and chat with them. I’m sure you’re cookie factory is breaking some federal regulations – you know, rats like you running around…”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence because one of the gingerbread men gave me a smack to the side of my head. I dropped Sweet and I fell on top of him.