I Woke Next to the Corpse by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Woke

I was behind the eight ball, alone, and leaving clear but irrelevant fingerprints. I was peering through the blinds, which shaded the first, pre-dawn light. I looked out the smudged window, fully expecting to see a cadre of unmarked Hoover FBI cars coming down the dirt road any minute. I was somewhat flabbergasted to see that no, they weren’t coming yet. But I knew that the majority of the time they used their standard M.O.

which was to “Christopher Columbus” their unprepared victims pre-dawn, and I had no intention of copping it sweet. The only bulge I had disappeared with Margie. To myself and the wall, I lowly said; “God be my witness, this is no Dutch act. If I have any effect whatsoever, some suck-up saps are coming for the ride with me.”

I was holding my snub nose like a baby, resting my own tail end on the throw rug. I always preferred a little cannon, a bean shooter, as it was excellent for concealed carry, giving me the coveted element of surprise with the hard numbers. My few such encounters have always been at close range, and I never considered the need to hit anything at a distance, making this morning’s expected get together one step more difficult to handle. Marlowe would have known what to do, what adjustments to

I Woke Next to the Corpse