As I jog past Bob and Alyssa McGavin’s McMansion that morning as usual, a shot rings out. I stop. Another shot rings out. I turn around just as Bob strolls out in his usual gray suit, carrying a giant, nasty-looking pistol.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.” Bob says almost casually. No blood’s on him.
“You okay?”
“Yup.”
“How’s Alyssa?”
“Good.”
“That’s good.” Far off, a robin sings. “Anyway, I gotta go.”
“Am I a good man?” Bob asks, sounding almost curious.
I try not to look at his pistol.
“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to sound kind.
“No fooling?”
“No fooling, Bob.”
Far off, a cop car wails. Another cop car joins in.
“You look hot in that sports bra,” Bob says, smiling.
Typical man, I think with disgust.
The two cop cars pull up.
“Uh, I’m sorry for saying that. About your looks,” Bob says.
Copyright © 2018 by David V. Matthews
January 18, 2018
DAVID V. MATTHEWS 