Member-only story
Just Filling In— WT21
Death doesn’t stop for vacations
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The springs groan as I wheel the old black pickup into the parking lot, a cloud of white smoke trailing behind.
Two men in basketball shorts stare as I rumble past them. The parking lot is awkward; this tavern occupies a triangle formed by a fork in the road. I’m glad it’s a fork and not a crossroads; forks don’t present as many complications for me. The lot is half empty, though, and I find a convenient spot.
“Wait here, CuSith. No dogs allowed.”
My coal-black companion sits panting on the passenger seat, her spotted tongue hanging lazily out the left side of her snout. The evening air is cool, maybe even crisp, but there are laws in this State against leaving pets in hot cars, so I crank the windows halfway down. I don’t need any do-gooders causing a scene.
CuSith’s voice speaks in my head.
Thanks. I like the night air. What time is the collection?
“2:17 am. Just after closing.”
I have to sit here for four hours?
“I’ll come let you out in a bit. I just can’t take you inside.”
