Also posted to my account on The Prose. I don’t have a title for it yet.
The cold barrel of the gun tapped against Clint’s cheek and slid slowly, gently along his cheekbone. Jack was leaning in closer with a jeering smile on his flushed face, and Clint could smell the 80 proof on his stinking breath. It did nothing to improve the quality of the air that hung thickly in the little alley, especially thick around the dumpster immediately to the left of where Clint stood.
“What was that?” Jack asked again, softer this time. “I don’t think I heard you. Properly. So say it again, loose lips. Because if it’s what I think I heard, well.” The smile faded. He pressed the gun a little harder, a cold circle just left of his captive audience’s nose. “I guess that depends on what you said, right?” Continue reading “Excerpt from the PI novel one of my characters wrote”