It must have been a gunshot. I’d know the sound of a .45 anywhere.
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Joe hesitated, then strode into the darkness of the bar. In the seconds it took for his eyes to adjust he could tell he would have the place virtually to himself for a while.
“Vultures.” On the roof again today.
Me and my best friend hung out every night on the streets, smoking cigarettes and talking to older boys in cars.
“Mr. Funderburke, I think my cousin is trying to kill me.”
Kakadu. That vast floodplain, a wilderness as green as the eye can see, in Australia’s Northern Territory. That’s where I’d brought her to die.
No matter how many times you’ve done it, it’s never easy.
Matt sneezed all over the pig fetus and then wiped his nose with his glove covered with formaldehyde and who knows what viruses.