I grit my teeth as I press my hand tighter against the hole in my stomach . . .
“Your first body?” “Dead one, yeah.”
Three miserable years. But there I was, fucking cigarette in my mouth . . .
Raindrops glistened about Sue’s minivan the day she left . . .
I always knew the kid was going to kill somebody, but no one believed me, especially my brother.
I had warned Mikey Ronagan that sooner or later someone was going to shoot that cocky smile off his face, so I don’t know why I’m letting the image of his dead body ruin my moment today . . .
The body didn’t belong in the freezer. It belonged in the Pasadena sunshine, skateboarding down the uneven sidewalks, cycling around McDonald Park, kicking a soccer ball around the Rose Bowl . . .
“Aren’t you hot in that?” She gestured at my sport coat. . . .