Saturday Fiction – Continued.
“Bad News Travels Slow”
*****
“Who did this to you?” An obvious question from an obviously bored cop.
“I dunno. We didn’t exchange addresses. He was big, strong, and didn’t say much.”
“That’s not much of a description. How are we supposed to find the guy with just that?”
“Well, I’m sorry, Detective. That’s all I can give you. I was busy bleeding at the time. I’ll try to do better next time.” Why do I even bother?
“A Safe Place” – Conclusion
“Show me. If you didn’t kill her, who did?”
He pulled out one of the photos and held it up facing me.
“He did,” he said, pointing to the dark haired man who was younger than either of us and in a lot better shape.
“Him,” I said? “What makes you think it was him? Just because he was…” He interrupted me before I could finish my sentence.
“He told me he did it.”
Off in the distance we both heard sirens. He looked at me, an anger beginning to build in his eyes.
“Did you tip off the cops that I was here?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell anybody, but you better talk fast. They’re getting closer. He told you that he’d killed your wife? When” Why?”
“I told you. While I was in jail.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to do to get him to keep talking.
A Safe Place – Continued—
He started moving toward me. I lifted my revolver and aimed it between his eyes.
“Stop right there, Cumberland. Don’t get any closer or I will shoot you dead.”
He stopped. “Can I just set this down? It’s getting heavy and it is hot. These are cheap oven mitts. I’ll put it down on the table and I’ll back up. OK?”
It seemed like a reasonable thing to ask. “OK, but no funny business. I’m a good shot.” That was lie too. I’d be lucky to hit him at all even though he was only five feet away. I hoped that my shaking knees weren’t obvious.
He did like he said. He put the lasagna down on a straw trivet, then went back to where he started. He closed the oven door and threw his mitts on the range top. I didn’t like his additions to our agreement. I told him so. He shrugged and I pressed him some more.
On my way through the lobby I peeked into their mailbox – nothing – and a chill ran down my spine. By now that box should have been stuffed with junk mail if nothing else.
The yellow “Crime Scene” tape was still stretched across their door. I could taste my lunch again.
I was hoping that I was wrong, but when I grabbed the knob and it turned, I knew that I wasn’t. I took my weapon out of my pocket. My palm was sweating, along with everything else.
A SAFE PLACE – Continued –
“…I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her.”
If I’ve heard some guy say that once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. What else is he going to say? “I did it. I’m guilty.” Not in this state.
A SAFE PLACE – Continued…
I was going to bring him in. I know that he says that he didn’t do it – that he didn’t kill her – they all do, but after that business in my office, I found it hard to believe.
GETTING BACK TO A SATURDAY practice that I have neglected-
Below is the first few pages of a short story that I’m working on for a Writers Group.
I’d appreciate some feedback.
Down the Hall on Your Left 