Five Decembers

by James Kestrel

It was the first thing he’d said since the autopsy started. He had to let up on his jaw to get the words out. His teeth sang with relief.

Fantastic!

Blame would spread as far as it would go. Like pouring a can of paint down a hill. Most of it would end up at the bottom, but it would stain everything it touched on the way down.

Love it!

He spread the bills out and showed the man. A single U.S. dollar would stretch a long way on this block. With five, a man could go absolutely crazy. They both knew it.

“Never stand there,” Takahashi said. He pointed at a round wooden lid on the ground. “The old privy hole. You wouldn’t want to fall in.”

Foreshadow ?

He thought of half a dozen things he might have said to her. He said none of them. He watched her face. She was considering responses to all the things he could have said.

He looked like he was trying to bite through a padlock.