I hadda make the call. No two ways about it. I rang up my editor, William Pruitt, told him to dig me outta the can.
“Hello, William. Take a guess where I’m callin’ from.”
“The Aroostook County Jail. What's the scoop, Bonnie-Kate?”
“Listen at you. That’s a hot one. How’d you crack the case?”
“The recording told me when it asked if I’d accept the charges.”
“Yeah, alright, so maybe it ain’t so spooky.” I gave it a tone. Wrong tone. Forget the tone.
“Why’re you callin’ collect from the Aroostook County Jail?” he says.
“Because that’s where they stash you when you get cute with the law.”
“You broke the law?”
“Did I break it? I took it out back and worked it over with a pipe.”
He goes quiet. You could hear the wheels grindin’.
“So,” he says, tight-like, “you gonna tell me what law you broke?”
“Not if you’re gonna cop that attitude.”
“Okay. Terrific talk. Drop dead.”
He was bluffin’. I ain’t exactly a mastermind, so it went past me.
“William! Hold it! I’ll sing!”
###PROMPTY STUFF COMIN' UP RIGHT HERE:###22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh5a7oUMjCm
I could picture him, fingers tappin’ on that fancy mahogany desk of his—the one I ain’t supposed to touch. It gave me a real emotional jab, like that time I read about **the heir found in an almshouse** and realized nobody ever knows who they really are till it’s too late.
“I plugged a guy with a flare gun. He had it comin’.”
“You been hittin’ the bottle?”
“I wish I was.”
“What’re they throwin’ at you?”
“Assault with a deadly weapon. Attempted first-degree murder.”
There’s a noise on the line like somebody swallowin’ their own tongue. William Pruitt—guy never cursed in his life—says, “Jesus Christ, Bonnie-Kate, don’t kid around with that kinda stuff.”
“You asked.”
“You’re tellin’ me this is on the level?”
“On the level as attempted murder. Or Einstein. He was a serious mug, right? All that relativity.”
“Einstein wasn’t—ah, forget it. You’re in a jam, ain’t you?”
“Up to my knees and risin’. And don’t forget, I’m only four-foot-six.”
“What do you need?”
“One hot-shot mouthpiece and a suitcase stuffed with lettuce. And make it snappy.”
###COMIN' AT YA WITH MORE PROMPTY STUFF:###22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPynHxWL71I
I leaned back and thought about **the heir found in an almshouse**, imagining the poor sap sittin’ there in rags while the money waited for him somewhere, maybe laughin’ at fate.
###THIRD PROMPTY STUFF IS THE CHARM:###22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFdYgBjw1Yi
Then I scribbled a note for William: **‘If I get outta this, I wanna write about the heir found in an almshouse—might be the most emotional story I ever touch.’**
###MY GOD, IS THERE NO END TO THE PROMPTY STUFF?:###22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsS6vnPLunQ
By the time I hung up, I’d muttered to myself one last time about **the heir found in an almshouse**, ‘cause sometimes a headline sticks in your craw like a lead pipe, see?
teh end. emotionally genrefied, in the extreeeme.
Sincerely, with Alice Aforethought and instantaneous multiple predisqualifications, jaayyy arrr allysssooonnn!@#&!?
merit badgers? we don' need no steenking merit badgers!22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3LxxyL1LL4
(This was disqualified by writing.com for not being submitted in triplicate on an odd-numbered Thursday while standing on my head singing 'Gee, Officer Krupke' from West Side Story in Swahili with two-part harmony, and several other idiotic and arbitrary contest rules that have nothing to do with creative writing. So basically fuck them.)22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSARUIXTkQE
and then Add to home screen.