“Who do you think is guilty?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“Me neither. I imagine it’s situations like this that drive detectives to drink.”
“Shall we give it a try?”
The two penniless PIs pooled their pocket change and shared a cup of coffee so hot it nearly melted their straws.”
It’s Thursday. I hate Thursdays.
Thursdays are when the dames come, sobbing, pleading, and looking for a pro-bono Private Eye.
On Thursdays, I say “know” more often than a philosophy student who just learned about epistemology, but without the “k” and the “w”.
Today, I surprise myself. I say yes.
PIs’ apartments are worthless, but this was mine.
The thug inside had broken my seal on the door. The tape was like my services: cheap but effective. I felt less fear than the tape, though.
I relieved my holster of its lopsidedness.
The doorknob was cold. Soon, he would be.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He also wrote Full Count.