“Oh no,” Clem stammered. “What could those policemen want me for?”
“I warned you not to pull that tag off our mattress,” Elvira reprimanded him.
He thought back, pallid of complexion and overwhelmed with anxiety, to all his early days with friends, doing drugs and playing with firearms. Perhaps one of the unexplained deaths in his crowd had finally been somehow traced back to him.
The cops pulled him over. “May I please see your license and registration, sir?” asked Officer Muldoon.
“This is just a random safety belt check, Mr. Schnauzer.”
“Thank you,sir. Good night.”
The photo is from The Reclining Gentleman. Rochelle Wisoff Fields is in charge of our Friday Fictioneers, a weekly 100~word attempt at story telling.