The Hunt for Higgs’ Bos’n: III, for #smalltales

It was half a decade since I’d seen Lucy Morales and she’d kept her figure more than her wits.

“Take that gun out of my face, Luce. I owe you already. No need for the piece.”

It was a big debt too – silence and favour. That night, black as treacle, where we tramped up the side of the caldera and buried her husband in the acid-rich soil. Her husband; my partner.

“This isn’t about Bobby, Kurt. I ain’t sure I can trust you baby.”

“I ain’t gonna shoot you, love. Whiskey’s all the shooting I’m doing today. You want in?”

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The Hunt for Higgs’ Bos’n: III, for #smalltales

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