Staring at the gray wall before him, Ben couldn’t quite remember how long he’d been sitting in the office. There were several chairs next to him, with the same cheap faux leather used at the DMV. There were no windows, and the only light came from old, pulsing fluorescent bulbs that filled the room
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“The wedding will be in the morning at the Crystal Pool. Small, with only one or two witnesses.” Aladdin cleared his throat andpushed back the dark curl that always fell onto his forehead. “Would you honor us with your presence?”
Grief grabbed my throat. So the arrangements were complete. Ever since Aladdin’s
August 31st
3:20 a.m.
I crept along the shadows of Buck’s Row in London, humming a song underneath my breath. Brownstone buildings loomed over me, and my foot clacked against a circular black plaque.
I giggled, a slightly intoxicated sound.
“Careful where you’re walking there, missum,” said a voice with a heavy London accent.
With my publisher’s demand for a retraction—practically a resignation in this journalistic environment—hanging over me, I approached the production booth. Through the window, I watched Clint Bell at the microphone bringing his show to commercial break.
“You’re deep in The Bell Hole, live on Eastville’s ZAP-95 FM. We’ll be back after these
I always did love July. But Independence Day ’89 was almost too hot, in more ways than one. I had been in New York since January, so long that my white belts were back in season, theoretically. I was supposed to be on temporary assignment from the DC Metro force, but that loan was…
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