CRIME AND GUMMIBEARS
Crime Suspense Short Story
I don’t even like fucking Gummibears!
Meet Detective Sergeant Michael O’Halloran. A twenty-seven-year veteran of the Baltimore Police Department. O’Halloran has just used deadly force to break up a bank robbery. The consequences of his actions will take him on a nostalgic journey he didn’t expect when he pulled the trigger. Consequences he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life. Or will he?
Perhaps it can all be remedied by, of all things, a pack of Gummibears…
Crime and Gummibears is a standalone suspense short story from Mark Posey.
EXCERPT FROM CRIME AND GUMMIBEARS
COPYRIGHT © MARK POSEY 2021
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
“State your name, rank and badge number for the record.”
“Detective Sergeant Michael O’Halloran, Baltimore Police Department, badge number 3679.”
“Detective Sergeant O’Halloran, describe, in your own words, the events of Friday, April ninth.”
This wasn’t the first time I had been interviewed by the Special Investigations Response Team—SIRT for short, but we all called them SQUIRT—it was over pretty quick and was usually disappointing.
It was fitting that the SIRT guy was using one of the interrogation rooms. At the moment, I certainly felt like a perp. I had never used deadly force before, and in twenty-seven years, had never even pulled my gun. Still, to my mind, I had acted correctly.
I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable. It rocked under me with a clunk. They should give a medal to the guy who picked these shitty, wooden chairs. They sure work to keep a guy off-balance. I wondered if someone had removed the felt pad from the bottom of one of the legs or if it had come that way.
My gaze fell on the shiny, new USB mic plugged into the SIRT guy’s laptop on the shitty wooden table and then met his gaze where he sat on the other shitty wooden chair.
He looked at me encouragingly and nodded. “Take your time. Just tell me what happened.”
Yeah, him and the forty-seven guys behind the glass.
I cleared my throat. “Just after nine A.M., I stopped at the bank on my way to the office.”
“The bank would be the main branch of the Harbor Bank of Maryland on West Fayette Street?”
I nodded. “That’s correct.”
“What business did you have there?”
“Just grabbing some cash for the weekend,” I shrugged. “It’s Spring Break. We’re taking the kids camping.”
“But you went inside. Why not just go to the ATM?” He furrowed his brow.
I smiled briefly. “Now you sound like my wife.”
The SIRT guy did not smile back. He gave no indication of even having heard me. He just blinked.
So much for lightening the mood. “I prefer the personal touch.”
He nodded and scribbled something on the pad of paper he’d placed beside his laptop. “And then what happened?”
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