“Uhhh… Give us one of those scratch tickets,” I say. Stabbing a finger at the roll of shining foil behind the Perspex screen.
“Sure,” he drones. His small, sunken eyes dart to mine a couple of times as he tears off the perforated ticket.
Like me, this guy’s forever on the alert for trouble.
Any time he has to move or take his eyes off a customer, he knows it could turn bad in a second.
Or it could, like today. Just end with a grunt or a forced ‘have a nice day’ before they disappear.
I study him again for a moment. Sliding the ticket back across the counter.
“Here, buddy,” I rasp, feeling my throat itch as I try to speak. “You never know your luck,” I add in a hoarse whisper, spinning on my heel and feeling like I need to leave.
Like right fucking now.
The flashbacks of every set of dead eyes or grieving parent I ever saw pulling me away. Clawing at my gut.
Begging my instincts, my inner vision, whatever the fuck you wanna call it.
Pleading with me to dosomethingbefore it’s too late.
You can’t save ‘em all Harry. Guy’s probably just having a bad day at work…
He doesn’t say a word and I head out and get back into my car. Not looking back.
Never looking back.
But I can’t shake the feeling and it’s still with me long after I head home. Longer still when I try to sleep.
The dead eyes of the clerk staring straight up at me from the blackness, almost like he’s looking at something behind me.
His face, gone. But those eyes…
Those fucking dead eyes…
I know he’s not dead though. He can’t be.
I just saw him and he was fine.
But I think I already know.
I just fucking know…
* * *
The landline phoneI have by my bed only ever rings when there’s trouble.
That or a call center that just happened to get the number. But for the most part, it’s theotherkind of trouble.
“Harry?” The familiar voice barks when I pick up. Still half asleep.
My old boss. And he’s never shy when it comes to waking up cops. Or even ex-cops.
“What?” I grunt, trying to swallow again. Knowing full well just fuckingwhat.
The alarm in my gut still hammering red alert about something.
“I need you down the morgue. The station… Ah hell, I need you at both,” he sighs bitterly before getting to the reason he’s calling.