Len Serafino

When he wasn’t there, she began to panic a little. She called out to him, “Mark, where are you?” No response. She turned toward the front door and saw her husband’s body lying in front of it. She ran to him and shouted his name. He was lying on his left side. When she turned him over…

Freight conductor, Terry Preston felt the movement first, the squeaking wheels of the Northern Pacific freight cars as they rounded a curve. He didn’t want to open his eyes; his head was already pounding. Then he felt something drip on his forehead. A drop of water? He groaned.

“I thought they fixed that leak in the roof of this damn caboose,” he said. He rubbed the drop from his head and opened his eyes. Immediately he stood up. “What the hell?” His hands were red, his shirt and vest had red spots too, blood. He looked at the top bunk, not sure what to expect...

“…Good morning, Myles,” Duncan said. “I was just giving Detective Brower here his assignment for tonight’s shift when a call came in to get someone from Homicide over to 1855 Old Hickory Place. Looks like some dame caught one in the left temple last night. Home invasion maybe.”

 Myles looked at Brower and whistled. “You take that one. That’s a big money area…

I watched the short, but telling, scene from the tiny concrete slab that passed for my front porch. Nick, a menacing looking guy, the kind who always seemed to be spoiling for a fight, was walking away from his wife, Theresa. She stood there, her coal black hair in disarray, fighting a losing battle...