"Boss?"
It had been so quiet, except for the hiss far above in the darkness of the engineering spaces and the pinging and plopping of the water drops hitting the deck plates, and the growing pool at her feet, and the skin of her upturned face. "...Yeah."
"How long have you been standing there?"
"I dunno: maybe a couple minutes?"
"Are you all right? Should I call someone?"
“Did you ever stand in the rain? Just stand there?”
“I was three when we launched, I don’t even remember rain.”
She shook her head, reached out her hand. “Come stand here.”
Encompassing All The Beauty Of Life
She checked three times to make sure they had their tickets before leaving the hotel; he gave the others directions over the phone from the back of the cab weaving through city traffic. They paid and jumped out still two blocks away because they couldn’t wait for the light, couldn’t wait another minute.
“First time?” The man in the booth smiled. “Party of two?”
“Our friends aren’t here yet… should we wait? What do you suggest?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll find each other inside. All part of it.” He took the tickets, returned the stubs; the doors slid open. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“First time?” The man in the booth smiled. “Party of two?”
“Our friends aren’t here yet… should we wait? What do you suggest?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll find each other inside. All part of it.” He took the tickets, returned the stubs; the doors slid open. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Small Bones
He’d been a cop for years. Last eight, a detective: Vice, then Narcotics, now Homicide. He’d been a cop long enough — lord knows, a detective long enough — to have seen everything.
He got back up, wiped his mouth. Someone handed him a water bottle, which he fumbled at opening. The others waited patiently, not judging. They’d all been there, one scene or another. It happens. When he’d collected himself, he ducked back under the yellow tape and stepped carefully down into the gully.
“This was your case?”
“Mindy Earlmann. Seven. She’d be ten now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I remember the backpack.”
He got back up, wiped his mouth. Someone handed him a water bottle, which he fumbled at opening. The others waited patiently, not judging. They’d all been there, one scene or another. It happens. When he’d collected himself, he ducked back under the yellow tape and stepped carefully down into the gully.
“This was your case?”
“Mindy Earlmann. Seven. She’d be ten now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I remember the backpack.”
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