It cost me twenty bucks not to break my ironclad rule about cop shops. I sent him my inheritance by courier with some fake contact info. Then I called him again the day after. This time things went fast. When they put me through he picked up abruptly.
"Jerry?"
That threw me. I almost stumbled into a no.
"Uh, ya, ya, it's me."
"I got the notes you sent me yesterday. Been waiting for your call. I think we should meet."
Interesting. The gray velvet fog had grown a lot thicker, choppier since the last time we spoke. And he was struggling with it. "You choose the place."
Good. You didn't have to spell it out for this guy.
"There's a coffee shop, Dino's," I said, "west side, halfway up Johnson."
"I know it."
"I'll be there at 1:30 tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll be there. Look for me. Tall. Brush cut. Black trench coat."
"What about the horse?"
There was a long pause. Some embarrassment bubbled to the surface.
"Stupid joke, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little nervous about this whole thing. "
"No problem, Jerry, I'll see you then. By the way, is Jerry your real name?"
"It'll do."
YOU ARE READING
The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher
General FictionSeeing the light? Sounds alright. Scales falling from the eyes and all that. A little visit from a revelation. But sometimes the light of a revelation doesn't live up to its advance billing. Sometimes it's not an epiphany at all. The bright burst of...
