Dialogues With The Devil? By Poor Richard's Son-2002
The call came around midnight just after she had finished her shift. She hadn't yet pulled her coat off and rushed towards the phone. The house was dark and empty. Beer cans littered the dining room table as roaches scurried for cover away from this invader.
"Hello, is this Ms. James?"
"Yes it is."
"This is the police department. Does a Mason Lee live at that address?"
"Yes, is he alright because I haven't seen him for a while?"
"I regret to inform you that he is dead. We found his body in a motel room on the Upper East Side. Apparently he died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. We'll need for you to come downtown and make a statement after identifying the remains."
"Oh my God?."
"I'm sorry ma'am; are you going to be alright?"
"Yes officer, I'll be just fine now."
She hung up the phone and took off her coat. Opening the refrigerator door, she snatched out a 24-ounce beer and took a long slug.
The doorbell startled her for a moment. She went to the door and opened it, returning to her seat at the table near her brew.
"Well come on in and put your things in the back. Just move his old shit out of the way; he don't need it anymore. Your money is on the table."
She smirked as the girl and her toddlers came in. The envelope holding his insurance papers fell onto the table out of her coat pocket while she searched for her cigarette pack.
