Shred of Evidence

It had taken quite an effort in Carrie’s head not to put the chain lock on the door. That was the first thing she reached for as soon as the guys were out. First it would be the chain lock, then the deadbolt, the lock in the handle, and three other locks she didn’t even know the proper names for. She had to wonder what they would say if they came back in a hurry only to find her keeping them out. Actually, they would probably skip saying anything and go right to breaking down the door and splattering her brains all over the carpet with a .45

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Gecko sat in a booth at the back of a club on the Sunset Strip, nursing a beer and trying to tell himself that things were not so bad. They weren’t, not really, at least when compared to his life before Los Angeles. Even that life had not been so bad. Sure, he had had to try to finding bars and halls in Iowa that would let him and his band Hydrahead play for a measly two hundred dollars a night. Life had been hard, but fun. Now he had a huge house, a wife with plastic surgery habit, and Hydrahead was steadily putting out albums on a major label.

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Bethany pulled her car into the gas station parking lot and parked it as far as she could from the growing snow drifts. That had been her mistake the last time she had tried this. The tires of her rusting Corsica had caught in a snow bank and she had spun her wheels for several minutes until the cops came for her. It had been an amateur’s mistake, one that she had dreaded relaying to her fellow inmates at Taycheedah, and she had no intention of doing it again. As it was her mother was probably already angry with her for the years of missed visits, and another conviction for Bethany would only change that anger into righteous wrath.

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Tobi Schultz is a young writer currently living in Wisconsin. Although published in several sci-fi and fantasy publications under a different name, this is Tobi’s first published crime story.