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About the Author: Ewan A. Dougall is published in Summer Bludgeon (Unsettling Reads), The Astronaut Rings Twice (Tyche Books), and Dark Waves of Winter (Kelp Journal).
Bullets kill quicker than cholesterol, but all things being equal, I’d rather a heart attack than a shotgun.
My surgery scar itches as I lean on the hood of a prowl car outside Fat Eddie Young’s Four Corners Diner and share a pack of cigarettes with a pair of hard-faced uniforms. My doctor would fret but I’ve already given up booze and any food worth a damn: he can have my smokes when I’m dead.
My partner’s late. The anonymous call came in over an hour ago and, even in rush-hour traffic, the station is only twenty minutes away. This time of night, with the streets to ourselves, he should have been here.
The black-and-whites talk sport. I grunt in all the right places as I watch pirouetting silhouettes through the diner windows. The coroner and his sidekick continue their waltz around Fat Eddie’s corpse, heedless that I’m no longer in the room, scribbling esoteric notes as they go.
Headlights slice across the block. An engine rumbles to a stop behind my parked heap. A gunshot door-slam then a tall drip in a hand-me-down suit adjusts his hat.
I toss my cigarette into the gutter, straighten. “Detective Woodley, good of you to join us.”
“Rivers?” Woodley’s bovine eyes widen as we shake hands. “I didn’t think you were back until next week.”
“It’ll take more than a bum ticker to keep me away, son.”
Woodley doesn’t ask how I am. He used to be conscientious. Punctual too.
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