Traffic hissed by, a series of wooshes, tire squeals, rattling metal.
Luke Tisson ducked between two small evergreens of the dozens that landscaped the funeral home. He hated noise, hated traffic.
He pulled out his phone to check the college football scores, If Maryland covered the spread, he could…
Two light metallic clicks.
Colin Dortmund. Lighting a cigarette with a Zippo.
He was looking at Luke down the barrel of the cigarette.
The white tube glowed orange. Dortmund took a deep hit, closed his eyes, exhaled and the smoke blew toward the funeral home door.
As Dortmund lowered the cigarette, Tisson slapped it violently from his hand.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.