cop to establish that this was nothing more than a workplace accident.
“So I guess that’s it?” Walter asked.
“For now. Since you own the property and were employing them, the Workplace and Safety Board will want to talk to you, too. You’re going to have to wait on those demolition plans until our full investigation can wrap up. Shouldn’t take longer than a week.”
Walter stood from his chair. “That’s fine. I completely understand. Now, if that’s all, I need to attend to my wife.”
The cop put his pad away, got up and headed for the hallway.
“That’s some couch you have there.”
“Thanks.”
The officer slowed and stopped by the door. “Look at the legs on that thing. They look like claws or talons of some sort. Where would you get an antique like that?”
Was this a trick question?
The cop was just at the house where the couch came from. He talked to Mike and the demolition guys. He had to know the couch came from that house.
“I received it today. In every piece of property that I buy to demolish, I try to find something to bring home. Something to say that the life in the house isn’t completely destroyed. This couch will live on long after the house is converted into a parking lot.”
The cop nodded as if he knew something that Walter didn’t. He could see the cop wanted to play the I’m smarter than you are card.
Let’s evaluate pay grades, asshole . Then we’ll see who’s smarter .
They stepped into the hallway.
“Sad what happened, eh?” the cop asked.
“Very sad. Accidents can happen. People die every day.”
A door banged against a wall somewhere.
“What now?” Walter said out loud.
He hustled past the cop and up to Joan’s bedroom. She lay just inside the doorframe on the floor, face down.
“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” He struggled with her dead weight. His peripheral vision revealed the cop had followed him.
Joan seemed heavier than before. Walter set her down and caught his breath. He looked over at the bedside table. Strewn across the top beside the food tray were a small collection of needles with all their plungers pushed to the bottom.
He looked at his wife’s arm. Blood had trickled from the inside of her elbow where there were over a dozen puncture marks.
The cop talked into his radio, calling for an ambulance. Walter backed away from his wife’s body as the cop checked for a pulse.
“People die every day, eh?” the cop said, repeating Walter’s words from moments ago.
Walter needed a stiff drink. It was past nine in the evening. The last of the authorities had just left. As far as anyone could tell, Joan had killed herself.
His son had shown up about an hour after his mother had died. He locked himself in his room where Walter could hear him crying.
What the hell’s going on? Where did this day come from? Everything’s so fucked up.
He poured more whiskey into his glass from the small bar in his office. He hated funerals and now he had two to deal with. Send flowers to one and arrange the other. Nothing pissed him off more.
Wait a minute , he thought. My wife just died . Why am I angry with her for the inconvenience? Shouldn’t I be grieving? Perhaps it’s because the Joan I’d married died many years ago.
Her mental attitude toward the diabetic condition had deteriorated rapidly. With a better grasp of what challenges she had ahead of her and a will to overcome them, he would have had more respect for her. All she did was whine and complain like life owed her a chance. With a better diet and some exercise, his wife would be alive and in a healthier place.
Fuck her. She asked for this.
He tilted his whiskey glass back and shot the rest of it into his mouth. It raced down the back of his throat with a welcoming bite.
Would Alex ever stop bawling like a fucking baby?
The bottle of Canadian
“So I guess that’s it?” Walter asked.
“For now. Since you own the property and were employing them, the Workplace and Safety Board will want to talk to you, too. You’re going to have to wait on those demolition plans until our full investigation can wrap up. Shouldn’t take longer than a week.”
Walter stood from his chair. “That’s fine. I completely understand. Now, if that’s all, I need to attend to my wife.”
The cop put his pad away, got up and headed for the hallway.
“That’s some couch you have there.”
“Thanks.”
The officer slowed and stopped by the door. “Look at the legs on that thing. They look like claws or talons of some sort. Where would you get an antique like that?”
Was this a trick question?
The cop was just at the house where the couch came from. He talked to Mike and the demolition guys. He had to know the couch came from that house.
“I received it today. In every piece of property that I buy to demolish, I try to find something to bring home. Something to say that the life in the house isn’t completely destroyed. This couch will live on long after the house is converted into a parking lot.”
The cop nodded as if he knew something that Walter didn’t. He could see the cop wanted to play the I’m smarter than you are card.
Let’s evaluate pay grades, asshole . Then we’ll see who’s smarter .
They stepped into the hallway.
“Sad what happened, eh?” the cop asked.
“Very sad. Accidents can happen. People die every day.”
A door banged against a wall somewhere.
“What now?” Walter said out loud.
He hustled past the cop and up to Joan’s bedroom. She lay just inside the doorframe on the floor, face down.
“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” He struggled with her dead weight. His peripheral vision revealed the cop had followed him.
Joan seemed heavier than before. Walter set her down and caught his breath. He looked over at the bedside table. Strewn across the top beside the food tray were a small collection of needles with all their plungers pushed to the bottom.
He looked at his wife’s arm. Blood had trickled from the inside of her elbow where there were over a dozen puncture marks.
The cop talked into his radio, calling for an ambulance. Walter backed away from his wife’s body as the cop checked for a pulse.
“People die every day, eh?” the cop said, repeating Walter’s words from moments ago.
Walter needed a stiff drink. It was past nine in the evening. The last of the authorities had just left. As far as anyone could tell, Joan had killed herself.
His son had shown up about an hour after his mother had died. He locked himself in his room where Walter could hear him crying.
What the hell’s going on? Where did this day come from? Everything’s so fucked up.
He poured more whiskey into his glass from the small bar in his office. He hated funerals and now he had two to deal with. Send flowers to one and arrange the other. Nothing pissed him off more.
Wait a minute , he thought. My wife just died . Why am I angry with her for the inconvenience? Shouldn’t I be grieving? Perhaps it’s because the Joan I’d married died many years ago.
Her mental attitude toward the diabetic condition had deteriorated rapidly. With a better grasp of what challenges she had ahead of her and a will to overcome them, he would have had more respect for her. All she did was whine and complain like life owed her a chance. With a better diet and some exercise, his wife would be alive and in a healthier place.
Fuck her. She asked for this.
He tilted his whiskey glass back and shot the rest of it into his mouth. It raced down the back of his throat with a welcoming bite.
Would Alex ever stop bawling like a fucking baby?
The bottle of Canadian
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