The Weekday One Hundred

The seasoned detective marched in the direction everyone was running from. No surprise there.

He pulled the service revolver from his worn leather holster and stepped into the convenience store. He moved slowly, deliberately, ignoring the towering cigarette displays as he secured the premises.

He clocked the three lifeless bodies on the spotless linoleum floor, red pools already growing.

He spotted a young boy resting atop the front counter. The kid sat cross-legged with his eyes open wide, a warm gun by his side.

The detective had witnessed a lot over his decorated career. But nothing like this.

“Hello, father.”