{"id":12,"date":"2021-07-11T23:22:29","date_gmt":"2021-07-11T23:22:29","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jtsiemens.ca\/?page_id=12"},"modified":"2022-06-07T10:39:25","modified_gmt":"2022-06-07T17:39:25","slug":"short-stories","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/jtsiemens.ca\/index.php\/short-stories\/","title":{"rendered":"Gallery"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

To Those Who Killed Me<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201dDogger and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder on his balcony, looking down over LoLo and its revolving red, neon Q. The SeaBus chugged across the Inlet toward the downtown lights. \u2018Sweet view,\u2019 I said. He looked directly at me from two inches away. \u2018I agree.\u2019 I sipped my vodka gimlet. \u201cOhhhh, man, like that\u2019s not the thousandth time you\u2019ve used that line.\u201d He laughed and finished his drink. I gave him a sidelong glance. \u2018How long we\u2019re you with Geri?\u2019\u201d <\/p>

*<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cStanding 20 feet away, by Geri\u2019s headstone, was Grady Harp. He looked thinner than I remembered, cheeks hollow and face lined. I turned to go, then looked at the letter in my hand. I ended up standing by his side. He didn\u2019t look at me. \u2018One phone call and you\u2019re arrested.\u2019\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

“Cash-filled backpack stowed beneath our table, the three of us sat in a back booth of Funky\u2019s on Hastings. Yet another bar sliding inexorably toward gentrification, it still had cheap beer, sticky floors, last-ditch barflies, and washrooms that would gag a maggot.\u201d<\/p>

*<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cA chain-link fence separated the park from the steep brambly embankment leading to the train tracks below. At the end of the path, stairs descended into the shadows, illuminated by the glow of a cigarette ember. I started down the stairs and then stopped. Moving toward me I could make out the black pompadour, leather jacket, and silenced pistol.\u201d<\/p>

*<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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\u201c\u2018Oh my God!\u2019 Karin said. \u2018Something\u2019s wrong.\u2019 She pulled out her phone and dialled 911. \u2018Tell them we\u2019re in Oppenheimer Park,\u2019 I said. Karin spoke to the dispatch as I made a move for the girl. She whirled at let out a scream, a look of fear and confusion in her eyes.\u201d<\/p>

*<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cHer free hand grasped a weather-stripped arbutus tree as she stared at the dark grey horizon. \u2018I wonder where she is now. Ten days ago she was here and now she isn\u2019t. Do you think she\u2019s out there somewhere?\u2019”<\/p>

*<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Ballhaven pub was a dark cave that reeked of 100 years of cigarettes, spilled beer, and beshatted trousers. Kind of place that made your liver ache just from walking in. At this hour it was mostly empty, except for a few half dead barflies. The bloated toad bartender eyeballed Tia\u2019s ass as we walked by. The ancient jukebox blared \u2018Ring of Fire.\u2019 Dark and faceless forms slouched in the shadows, clutching glasses of their favourite poison.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

TO THOSE WHO KILLED ME<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn an alley across the street, a teenage drug dealer wearing a fur-lined parka sold to a shivering blonde in a baggie blue sweatsuit. The woman wore soiled pink slippers and hopped from foot to foot, doing the jonesing junkie jig. She was a flailing mess. I recognized her from Geri\u2019s funeral. The girl with the damaged face.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs I stepped through the door of the No. 5 Orange, bass from a Jay-Z song vibrated through the floor and up my legs. Last time I was in \u2018the Five,\u2019 it was to bust some bikers unloading Smith & Wessons out the back door. As my eyes adjusted to the frenetic purple and red strobe lights in the packed club, I saw a leggy dancer undulating in nothing but red devil horns and white, feathery wings.\u201d<\/p>

* <\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

To Those Who Killed Me<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYuri looked up as our cruiser turned the corner into the alley, said something to his waifish redhead companion who spun around, and booked it in the other direction as fast as her black pleather pants would let her. \u2018That would be the lovely Neko,\u2019 I said.\u2018What do you want to bet she\u2019s holding his stash,\u2019 Quin said, aiming the nose of the cruiser toward Yuri\u2019s kneecaps. At the last second, he breaked hard, putting the bumper a few yards from crippling a man. Yuri didn\u2019t flinch, merely gave a small smile.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBack in my cop days, the Mount Pleasant Inn had a reputation for bedbugs and portable meth labs. It also accepted pay by the month, day, or hour, and was one of the few remaining motels around that accepted cash over credit card, making it the lodging of choice among crooks, cheating spouses, and people on the lam. Judging from the dilapidated exterior I saw no reason to assume anything had changed for the better.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without prior permission. Copyright 2022.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

To Those Who Killed Me \u201dDogger and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder on his balcony, looking down over LoLo and its revolving red, neon Q. The SeaBus chugged across the Inlet toward the downtown lights. \u2018Sweet view,\u2019 I said. He looked directly at me from two inches away. \u2018I agree.\u2019 I sipped my vodka gimlet. \u201cOhhhh, man, … <\/p>\n

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