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    Happiness Is a Warm Gun
    Happiness Is a Warm Gun
    Happiness Is a Warm Gun
    Ebook33 pages29 minutes

    Happiness Is a Warm Gun

    By Josh Covington

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A washed up detective searches for a killer across a small town while running from his own demons and sleeping with only a rusty Smith and Wesson for comfort.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJosh Covington
    Release dateDec 6, 2009
    ISBN9781452349398
    Happiness Is a Warm Gun
    Author

    Josh Covington

    My fiction has been published in a number of literary journals including Reflections, Writers of Readers, My Legacy, Nuvein Online, and EWG Presents. I've also written for several local publications including Style Weekly, Virginia Business, and Richmond Magazine.I enjoy Seinfeld reruns, the Atlanta Braves, and Beatles songs written by John, Paul, or George. Sorry, Ringo.In Search of Monsters is my first book.

    Read more from Josh Covington

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      Book preview

      Happiness Is a Warm Gun - Josh Covington

      Happiness Is a Warm Gun

      By Josh Covington

      www.JoshCovington.com

      HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN. Copyright ©2009 by Josh Covington. All rights reserved. United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      Smashwords Edition

      Happiness Is a Warm Gun

      Police lights draped over the night, silhouetting the world in a haze of blue. Media had already enveloped the place, bustling about like frantic insects. I cased the scene from the outskirts, careful to stay in the shadows, waiting for just the right time to move in to avoid being caught by their flashbulbs. That was the last thing I needed.

      I made my move sometime after 9:00. The number of cops around the house had reached critical mass by then, making it the best time for a guy like me to slip inside amidst the confusion, unnoticed and unaccounted for. With my fedora pulled down over my eyes, I walked toward the house, trench coat tailing behind me. I reached the front door, flashed a badge at a cop that didn’t look old enough to have been to the prom, and I was in. Just like that.

      Inside, bulbs popped, illuminating the scene with explosions of light. The air was filled with the bitter stench of fingerprint powder and adrenaline. What looked to be a dozen officers, some uniformed, others dressed in the distinctive jumpsuits of the forensics unit, milled through the house. No one seemed to notice me.

      Good.

      Two cops both wearing stark, solemn expressions stood off to the side, seemingly avoiding the havoc on purpose. They looked worn and flustered, like parents at the end of a child’s birthday party.

      What have we got, Teddy? I walked up to one and asked, reading his nametag.

      Female Caucasian, 52 years old. Name is Lucy McLean. Daughter found her going on two hours ago now. He didn’t give me a second look, his eyes glued to the deceased, his lip quivering.

      The other cop piped up, this one staring through me with his eyes. You on this case?

      You could say that. I turned back to Teddy. Witnesses?

      Naw, looks like the house was empty when she got popped, Teddy answered.

      Leads?

      "Not yet,

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