Fatal Checkout

A lonely, dishevelled figure rummaged in a trashcan for scraps of food, and was caught in the powerful gush of water from a street cleaning truck. He almost lost his footing as, mouthing abuse, he hurled whatever was in his hand in futile retaliation at the departing vehicle.

Not a single light showed from the surrounding windows as Joey got in, and the car gently moved out into the road. Seconds later, the rain had washed out the tyre tracks, and the only sounds came from water gurgling into the sewers, and the dwindling metallic contractions from a recently parked Pontiac. As if in homage, the mournful, muffled groan of a distant foghorn drift ed up from the bay.

His route took him passed the cafeteria, and being aware the body in the morgue had no urgent need of his presence, took a few minutes off for breakfast. Nothing healthy, just sweet black coffee and a huge Danish. Probably not the best lining to put on one’s stomach in view of what was to come.

Unable to do much other than think and develop his hatred, Gerrard reflected on his situation. It would now be necessary for Munro to figure prominently in his business dealings. In a short span it became obvious that the club was in better shape than when Gerrard had been at the reins.

Unable to do much other than think and develop his hatred, Gerrard reflected on his situation. It would now be necessary for Munro to figure prominently in his business dealings. In a short span it became obvious that the club was in better shape than when Gerrard had been at the reins.

Coming down the considerable slopes at an unaccustomed rate of knots was difficult, and at one intersection he took it very wide to go around a streetcar, just as it was changing tracks, and a motorcycle cop swerved to avoid the barrelling car. Munro lifted his foot to slow, and instinctively looked in the rear view mirror. The cop had slowed and turned on a dime to give chase.