I was sitting in my office cleaning my .38 when in she walked. High heels. Legs for miles. Lipstick.
“You Mickey Lewis?”
“That’s what the sign says, sugar.”
I cracked a deck of Luckies, dug out a jug of Jack.
Lousy time to be cleaning a gun. She shot first.
Bradley Harris is a Canadian freelance writer and editor. He is a two-time winner of the 3-Day International Novel competition, with ‘Ruby Ruby’ (Anvil Press: 1999) and ‘Thorazine Beach’ (Anvil Press: 2013). He loves and lives with his wife Liz Deeley and their fictitious dog Webley in Memphis, Tennessee. He despises and refuses to live with semicolons.
It’s Friday. I hate Fridays.
Some Fridays I have nothing to do, so I sleep through lunch and gag down cheap booze at the diner all evening.
Today, I have a job. It’s a freebie. I hate myself.
She’s a brunette. Thinks her husband’s lying to her. She’s probably right.
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.