Liquor
The blonde was just having fun.
Author: John Davis Frain
I write crime fiction. The details expressed do not necessarily represent portions of my life.
Katana
A Debt to Die For … twenty-two years later.
Jump Rope
Birdie, Birdie, in the sky;
Why must Frain always die?
Ice Sculpture
Deadly Vows Snub Nose missed his only shot at Frain outside the rehearsal dinner on Thursday. Missed a second chance pre-ceremony, Saturday in the park. Wanted to fire his thirty-eight in church when the minister asked if anyone objected to the marriage, but his fear of collateral damage – shooting the minister – stopped him from […]
Hot Air Balloon
Murder With a Bad Altitude My wife walked four paces behind me, a pink Colt revolver in her hand. I mocked her. “Shoot me with your pinkie, and I might need a couple stitches to close the flesh wound.” “It’s a thirty-eight. One shot into your cerebellum, they won’t bother with stitches.” Suddenly she’s a […]
Guitar
Frain Sings the Blues “It’s my instrument of death,” Crash screamed from stage. “And it’ll cause your wrath,” he finished, unable to find a suitable rhyme for his dark song. Backstage, disturbed by the crowd leaving instead of begging for an encore, Crash went on a rage when I asked about his songwriting skills. “Meth […]
Frying pan
Frain wants eggs over easy. Mrs. Frain comes down hard.
Ethylene Glycol
Drink for Justice Reading time: 1 minute Way I figure it, Frain made his choice three years ago. People collect things. Frain collected license plates. From the cars we stole. One morning, this is three winters ago, it’s five degrees outside. We’re coming home from 7-11 on account of Frain’s needing to address his Mountain […]
Drill
Murder Through the Molar Reading time: 1 minute The office is closed. I don’t work Sundays, but I have one patient. A Mr. Frain. He’s behind in his payments for a root canal. Also, he caught me fondling a patient. Him, when the local wore off early. He threatened to expose me like an x-ray. […]
Cannonball
Orchestrating a Murder Reading time; 1 minute Four cellos and two violas swayed in, and my anxiety soared knowing my moment was near. But his time on earth, this Frain, this unpalatable percussionist – his time was dwindling. Like Tchaikovsky before me, I would send this solder boy to his deserved death. I stealthily moved […]
JD Frain 