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The Twelve Gauge of Christmas
The Twelve Gauge of Christmas
The Twelve Gauge of Christmas
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The Twelve Gauge of Christmas

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"It was the old bastard, all right; laying by the fireplace, contorted in an unnatural pose. The streaks of blood ran down from the mantelpiece, which he had likely grabbed in a desperate escape attempt."

A homage to my favorite noir writer of all times. Set in an alternate reality, just slightly less bizarre than ours

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 26, 2009
ISBN9781452304212
The Twelve Gauge of Christmas

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    The Twelve Gauge of Christmas - P.A. Gardinali

    The Twelve Gauge of Christmas

    P.A. Gardinali

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2009 P.A. Gardinali

    Discover other titles by P.A. Gardinali & Friends at: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Paolo

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

    I scratched my beard. It felt like two days growth, but it was more likely four. And here I was again, on Christmas Day. The ranking brass that should have normally rushed to something like this were too busy with their families and celebrations. Luckily for them, I no longer had a right to any of that. I looked around the room. People moved in and out, doing their job, performing the last rites, talking on their cell phones, taking pictures and notes, all while stepping carefully around the body.

    It was the old bastard, all right; laying by the fireplace, contorted in an unnatural pose. The streaks of blood ran down from the mantelpiece, which he had likely grabbed in a desperate escape attempt. The blood pooled around his body, seeping through the seventies shaggy carpet. Bright red on dark, quite festive, if you ask me, but still in the back of my throat I felt the acid souvenir of the scotch I had liberally used to wash Christmas night away.

    The radio crowed some nonsense. One of the CSI guys, Dave something, murmured a curse under his breath, digging around with tweezers in the wooden mantelpiece. Looked like everyone was in a foul mood today. Except me, of course. I hadn’t been expecting anything at all: not this Christmas, not any of the recent ones. And a big fat nothing I received. So it was all good. I repeated my mantra to myself, since no one else seemed to be paying attention. "Set your expectations low enough, and you’ll never be disappointed."

    I took some additional notes on a legal pad, and drew a quick sketch of the room, the position of the corpse, arrows pointing to possible evidence and other relevant details. Just something

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