The detective weighed the butcher knife in her hand as she weighed her Sergeant’s question, finally responding, “I keep a list of names.”
“I don’t want a list, Reid,” the Sergeant barked, “I want one name and I want it on my desk when I walk into work in the morning.”
They stood behind a city trash truck that had been seconds from crushing a sofa made heavy by the presence of a body sewn into the base.
Reid’s partner mused, “Who the hell sews a guy into the base of his own sofa, then puts him on the curb for morning pickup? By the way, it’s a helluva nice stitching job.”
Reid turned away from her Sergeant and smiled as she eyed one name on her list: Earl “Threads” Taylor, Upholsterer. ###
I had an Undertaker story all cued up, and then some Upholsterer jumped in and kicked the undertaker out of the running. For the A to Z Challenge, we’re doing six-sentence stories, inspired by Hemingway who introduced the six-word story. (For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.) Thanks to my wife, Janet, who threw Upholsterer my way. And warned me I’d be seeing the Undertaker if I didn’t heed her suggestion, whatever that means.
This is the final week of the A to Z Challenge. (Read: Yesssssss!) Come back tomorrow to see what happens to V. Phone lines are open for requests.