“No Moon. No light. No nuthin’. Not the best night to be out on a call,” Stolik said.
“Just keep walking. We should find it pretty soon. I can feel we’re close,” Burlingame answered.
“Yeah. Sure,” Stolik groaned. “All part of the job. Part of any stake out.”
The two figures, brimmed hats pulled down, collars turned up against the cold night air, walked through
the old church cemetery, passing row upon row of weathered and cracked headstones. They were
searching for a body, phoned in by an anonymous caller. A classic portrait for a film noir.
“Ah, there it is,” Burlingame announced as they approached the corpse spread eagled, face up, on an
overturned ancient headstone. “What ya think? Dead?”
“Don’t know for sure. Let’s see,” Stolik bent over slowly removing the wooden shaft protruding from
the corpse’s chest.
With a mighty tug Stolik wrested the shaft from the body. In that same moment, the supine body
gasped and lunged to its feet.
The young lady with a gaping hole in her chest smiled at the two men and said, “Thank you.”
“No problem, Ma’am,” replied Burlingame. “Wish all our stake outs were this easy.”
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