No Hard Feelings
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 335

The sky had turned grey as the three men walked nervously past the police car. They had all heard the single gunshot ring out in the silence of the night and left the super bowl playing on the television in Andy Croft’s house to see what was going on in their normally peaceful street. The broken arc sodium streetlights gave the street and eerily and ominous appearance with the solitary vehicle looking deserted and out of place.

Andy took a second look at the driver’s side as he passed the vehicle. Sitting awkwardly, with her head tiled forward against the steering wheel was a uniformed office with a large bloody hole in her temple. Even in death, her face was haunting. She had big blue eyes, high cheekbones, full pouting lips that had already turned purplish. Her mouth was stretched open in a scream. Andy looked in the front and back seats of the car, then up and down Fifth Street. Not a soul in sight anywhere. There were no other cars in the street, and they friends had not heard any car speed away after the gunshot. Who had shot this police officer, and where did they go?

“What do you think?” Tony said.

“No sign of anything,” Grant said. “Or anyone.”

“Let’s call the police,” said Andy.

Sirens smashed the silence of the night, red and blue lights pierced the darkness. Police cars skidded to a halt, blocking off both ends of the street. Officers piled out into the street, drawing their firearms.

“Freeze,” an officer yelled. “Put your hands behind your head and slowly kneel down.”

The three complied without hesitation.

Andy noticed a work colleague creep out of the shrubs in front of his house as he knelt.

“Charlie,” Andy said.

“I thought you said he wasn’t invited to your place?” Grant said.

“I didn’t,” said Andy seeing Charlie smile at him, then drop a pistol next to his rubbish bin. “And it looks like he didn’t take to kindly to it.”