Looking up from the poem I noticed the stickman in the doorway.
‘Funny seeing you here Mr. Sullivan,’ I said tossing the poem back onto the desk, ‘I’m guessing
the other hounds came up empty as well.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Sullivan said as he walked toward the desk, pulled an envelope from his
jacket and set it down in front of me, ‘the remainder of your fee. Consider the association with Mr.
Brevis at an end.’
I listened as Sullivan walked down the hall and down the stairs. I hoped that Twilight hadn’t
been found, that she was somewhere beyond the city, beyond Brevis’ reach. I opened the envelope
and ran my fingers over the stack of bills; glancing at my watch I saw that it was getting too late
to head back on the ferry. So it looked like I would be getting a room for the night after all, at least
I could afford it.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #15 - 2018