The Quiet Edge by Rob Cornell

Author:Rob Cornell [Cornell, Rob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Broken Trope Press

Twenty

As it turned out, Ken Jankowski was technically at home. He sat in the center of his couch—a ratty flea haven if ever there was one—wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-not-so-much-whitey-anymore briefs that looked like they’d gone through too many loads of mixed darks and lights. His skin was almost the same over-washed gray, except for the bib of blood that had poured down from the open slash in his throat.

His eyes were still open, staring deadly at an old tube TV set on a pressboard TV stand that looked only half-built, the doors missing from the lower cabinet, and only one vertical board alongside the TV that might have belonged to a hutch or upper shelf if completed. The TV was on, showing an action flick as dated as the television it played on, but the volume was muted.

For a second or two, Harrison stood locked in place. He’d seen his fair share of murder victims, but he had usually gone in expecting to see one. This corpse had taken him by surprise.

A fly buzzed a loop around Jankowski’s head, then lit upon his open right eye.

That triggered Harrison’s gag reflex, which in turn kicked him out of his stasis. He mashed his knuckles against his closed mouth and swallowed down the urge to puke. Despite his body’s natural instinct to retreat, Harrison stepped into the apartment and shut the door.

Harrison surveyed the room. The window shades were drawn down. The only light came from the bluish glow of the TV screen, but there wasn’t much to see. Studio apartment. A dirty bare mattress lay in one corner. Another corner hosted a mini fridge with a hotplate on top of it. Doorway in a third corner, on the opposite side of the TV, probably led to the bathroom. The only other furniture was the coffee table, covered with ash and cigarette butts. Harrison wasn’t sure where Jankowski kept his clothes. In the closet, maybe.

Life as a petty criminal sure looked glamourous. Harrison was so very jealous.

The fly in Jankowski’s eye took flight again and lazily swerved toward Harrison. It was a fat sucker, most likely near the end of its short lifespan. Harrison probably could have swatted it in mid-air, as slow as it was going. But he didn’t want to touch the thing. Not even for a second.

He ducked, and the fly buzzed on by overhead.

Hunched over, Harrison glimpsed a flat rectangular shape hidden under the coffee table. The TV didn’t offer much light to clear the shadows under there. Still, Harrison thought he knew what he’d found. With his hands in fists and pressed at his sides to keep from touching anything, he crept toward the coffee table, then got down on his knees.

Closer now, he could make out the chrome casing of a laptop.

He paused a moment to consider what he was dealing with here…and what to do about it. Someone had murdered his only lead. But that, in itself, could be a lead of its own.

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