Sins of the Demon

t’s a badass coat without badass gloves? It was a good thing the store didn’t sell boots, because I had no doubt I’d have bought some. I had the brief urge to hand my Members Only jacket to the girl to dispose of, but my frugal side made a last-ditch rally and managed to slap a bit of sense into me.

 

Ten minutes later I was back in my car—and feeling not only warm but tough, because there’s nothing like leather to make one feel invincible.

 

*

 

I didn’t have any pressing need to go to the station since the report on the death of Barry Landrieu could certainly wait until Monday. However, two weeks ago the gods had decided that I was a good and just person and deserved to be compensated for the selfless works I had performed, and Grounds For Arrest had opened directly across the street from the Beaulac Police Department.

 

It was like Mecca and Nirvana and Valhalla all rolled into one. It was my Shangri La. They served coffee with chicory. And it was Good.

 

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