“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
“Alright then,” he said.
That afternoon, his cruiser pulled onto our street. He came to my door first.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Not even a little,” I said.
“But let’s go.”
We walked to Jack’s together.
Murray knocked. Firm, not aggressive.
After a moment, the door opened a crack.
I saw one eye, a slice of his face.
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