A lone sedan entered the parking lot of the processing plant and went dark. A tenebrous figure emerged from the shadows, sheathed in tactical garb and gripping an M-4 carbine. He loaded a magazine and charged the weapon.
A warmth filled my chest, an immense sense of pride that you were here. With me.
I'd only met you properly for the first time this morning. Of course, I knew you before then.
"Damn thing," old Ernie muttered, glancing up from his laptop. He reached out to shut off the annoying noise but noticed the call was from his area. This was unusual.
My cousin Dedrick and me are farmers. We don’t own no land and most likely never will, but we use land that’s been forgotten by its owners or maybe it was never owned other than by the Cherokee in them olden days.
Detective Inspector Dave Box entered the room: an elderly man sat motionless in a wheelchair in a blue dressing gown open at his pale chest, revealing sparse hairs and a plastic tube entering the bottom of his throat.