The kid, he couldn’t have been more than 23 or 24, sat on the hood of the cruiser, starring up at the sign.
The round sign tried to take on the look of a donut. In case you couldn’t tell, the word “donuts†was written in red neon across the middle of the sign. Above it was the name Joes and below, deliberately misspelled, was tastee.
I don’t care for people who abuse children. People who abuse children are not among my favorite kinds of people.
I stopped counting bullet holes in the sedan when I got to thirty. It didn’t make any difference to my investigation and besides the sticky blood on the seats kept getting on my pants.
I looked across the garage at Sheriff Cooper and Deputy Weidman and asked, “What are you going to do with the reward money, buy more ammunition?â€
Dave Hardy has had fiction published by RAGEMachine and 1018 Press and literary criticism published in The Cimmerian. He lives in Austin, Texas.
The usual collection of tale mongers had their tongues in hyper overdrive when Randall Weeks walked into Sid’s Diner. He weaved his way through the chatter, sitting down in his regular spot, just as Sid’s wife, Ruby, placed a cup of coffee on the counter in front of him.
“What’s got everyone in an uproar today?” asked Randall, shaking a cigarette out of his pack. Flicking his lighter, he watched the flame torch the end, then grinned as he saw Sid clutch his stomach and run to the men’s room.
It is a little before dinnertime when they approach my rented cart, the woman and her baby boy, the woman winding her way through the crowded mall while the baby squirms in her arms. She looks like she needs a place to rest. Her little one throws himself to the side and I see shoes on his feet; clearly he wants to be allowed to walk, but his mother, she will not allow it. Maybe because there are too many shoppers, this evening a week before Christmas.
“Liquidity.â€
The voice came from the darkness near my feet. “What?â€
“That’s your problem, Luke. Liquidity.†I felt Clay shift next to me. “A man sticks a gun in your face and asks for money it’s best to have some to give him.â€
Rick lives in Duluth, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta, with his wife and two sons. Numerous websites and magazines, including Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and Futures Mysterious Anthology, have published his short stories. Writing since a teenager, his work includes dozens of mysteries, humorous pieces, and dark tales. Two novels, Family Ties and Shadows of the Past are currently seeking a home while work continues on a third.
Samples of Rick’s work-in-progress are available for enjoyment and critique at http://writing.com/authors/rnoetzel.
“There’s Hope in one mile,†he said.
“I’m not going to make it.†She leaned over and retched on the carpet. “Sorry about the car.â€
Linda Hanson enjoys reading flash and writing short. A Mike Holiday story can be found at MystericalE and she has an upcoming piece at Muzzle Flash.