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The Gumshoe's Mistake

After hours, quiet as a cockroach, he tippy-toed down the long dark office corridors. He could see bluish lights through the frosted window in one door. Shadows cast blurry moving pictures of violence. The sounds of murder were muffled. Then the private dick inside turned off the television set.

Story by:

John D. Brooke

johnbrooke@mac.com

submitted at 10:21pm

22 April 2011

John D. Brooke's web:

www.holysmokeandmirrors.com