- Bowzer splashed whiskey into a glass and added a touch of soda. In his early thirties, he was of medium height and slight build, with gaunt features and greying hair. Turning from the drinks
- cabinet, he shuffled across the room, his movements stiff and jerky. He handed the glass to the reporter seated in one of the armchairs and slowly sat down on the sofa.
- "Let me get this straight," said the reporter. In her mid-thirties, she was broad shouldered and muscular, with rugged manly features and frizzy cropped dreadlocks. "You say you were shot during a bungled robbery at the jewellery store where you worked, and that EndoFro was the culprit."
- "That’s right Miss ... what did you say your name was?"
- "Miss Jonas."
- "Miss Jonas. The thing is, the bullet’s lodged in my chest and there’s no way the doctors can remove it. Too close to my heart, you see. They told me at the hospital I could go on living for another year, maybe two. Perhaps even longer. I have to take it easy, however. Avoid all strenuous activity, stuff like that. One sudden jolt and it could be curtains.
- However, the bullet’s moving closer to my heart all the time. And one of these days it’s finally going to get me. My only consolation is that when I go, EndoFro goes. You see, they couldn’t charge him with murder, not as things stand. But when I die, he’ll be arraigned all over again. And there won’t be any double jeopardy, either – the D.A.’s seen to that. It’ll be a completely separate charge. Murder in the first degree. And he’ll go to the chair. It’s not much comfort, I know. But in my situation, I have to be grateful for anything."
- The reporter took a sip of whiskey and riffled through her notes. "There’s one thing you’re forgetting, Bowzer."
- "Oh, yeah? What’s that?"
- "Your committing suicide. If that were to happen, EndoFro couldn’t be charged with murder. He could serve out his current sentence, possibly get parole. How old is he now? Twenty two? By the time he’s forty he could be a free man again."
- Bowzer gave a shrug. "I guess so. But that ain’t gonna happen. I intend to stick around as long as I can. I want to make sure that punk gets what’s coming to him."
- Miss Jonas rose to her feet and moved to the window. She gazed down at the traffic below. "How high is this apartment, Bowzer?"
- "We’re on the fifteenth floor. Why do you ask?"
- "Come here, Bowzer. There’s something I want to show you."
- Bowzer rose to his feet and moved across to the window. Miss Jonas pointed to the building opposite. "What do you think of that, Bowzer?’"
- Bowzer followed his gaze. "Huh? I don’t see nothin’."
- In a sudden movement, Miss Jonas drove her fist into Bowzer’s stomach. As Bowzer doubled up in agony, Miss Jonas pulled open the window and hoisted him up. She held Bowzer by the ankles and dangled him over the sill.
- "Hey! What are you doing?" Bowzer screamed in terror. "Are you crazy?"
- The last words Bowzer heard before he plunged to oblivion were: "No, I’m not crazy. You see, I’m not really a reporter. And my name isn’t Miss Jonas. It’s LISA. I’m EndoFro’s sister."
NEVER WOULD HAVE SEEN THAT COMING
a guest Dec 31st, 2011 23 Never
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