It was hot for Christ’s sake, damned hot. And it smelled like a corpse rotting in the sun. The radio head reported that it was the hottest July on record, but he could have fooled me. It didn’t feel like July at all. It felt more like I went to bed in a furnace and woke up in hell. I woke up pissed and hot. The fan spun on the dresser like it was going to take flight, but the air conditioning was out and the stifled air didn’t move. I drug my ass to the can to drain my lizard. I had to hold out a hand to steady myself until my ballast drained and I could stand up straight. I contemplated my face and raised the blade. When I was done the wolf was still there, but he was a bit better groomed. I washed my hands and dried them by brushing back my flat top hair. I pulled on the uniform and dabbed a little polish on my shoes. While the polish dried, I cleaned my gun—an old school Smith Model 10. It belonged to my Granddad when he was a flatfoot in this very district. He passed it on to Dad, who got killed ‘cause he didn’t pull it fast enough, in a trailer park out on Storm Creek.
