“El Cerrito” by Ron Riekki
“He shot her.”
“I see.”
“Yup.”
“He shot her.”
“I see.”
“Yup.”
He’s a cop. I’m not. It’s a Ride-Along Program. I did one before. With a cop who wouldn’t talk.
Matt sneezed all over the pig fetus and then wiped his nose with his glove covered with formaldehyde and who knows what viruses.
“Your first body?” “Dead one, yeah.”
There’s nowhere more unsafe than the back of an ambulance. . .