Page 2 of Rigid

I closed my eyes.

It wasn’t what I’d said. I didn’t say anything. Not that I could remember, anyway. I simply pulled the trigger.

“And then, when he didn’t, you shot him? In the face, I might add.”

I didn’t remember shooting him in the face. I didn’t remember shooting him at all. The last thing I could remember was yelling at him. I wanted him to stop. I needed him to stop.

But, he didn’t.

“I uhhm. I think I yelled at him. I don’t know,” I muttered. “I’m not sure what I. I don’t know.”

“Stop, or I’ll shoot.” His eyebrows raised slightly. “And then you shot him in the face.”

“I don’t.” I lowered my head onto the table. The more I thought about it, the more the memories became scrambled. I looked up. “I don’t remember doing that.”

He pushed himself away from the table and shot me a look. “Are you suggesting that someone else shot him?”

“I don’t…”

“Your fingerprints are all over the gun, Miss West. I’d love to hear a different version of the story, though.” He chuckled, and then looked at Jacky. “How about you, Jacky? You want to hear how someone walked up, took the gun from her hand, shot the guy, wiped off his prints, put the gun back in her hand, and then ran away?”

Jacky extended her left arm, a silent suggestion for Jones to back away from the table. When he complied, she turned to face me and smiled. “Do you want something to drink, hun? You don’t look like you’re feeling well.”

“I uhhm. I’d like a Sprite. Or a 7-Up. Can I have one of those?”

“Sure,” she said with a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

She stood, looked at Jones, and then left the room. Jones paced for a moment, and then stopped directly across from me. His tired eyes met mine.

“That gun you shot him with is a pretty unique piece. Ruger SP-101. Five-shot .357 magnum with a 2” barrel. With that short barrel, they kick like a fuckin mule, huh?”

I glanced at my right hand. Amidst the dried blood, a bruise was clearly visible on my wrist. As I gazed at the discolored skin, I remembered pulling the trigger, and how much the pistol’s recoil hurt.

I nodded. “Uh huh.”

“So, do you remember shooting him now?”

I didn’t remember shooting him, I only remembered the boom and the blinding flash of light.

I looked at him. My eyes felt itchy. “I uhhm.”

The door opened, and Jacky walked in. After sitting down across from me, she poured some soda in a cup and slid it across the table. “Have a drink, it’ll make you feel better.”

Jones tossed a yellow notepad and a pen beside me. “While you’re sipping that soda, why don’t you write down what happened? Every detail. How you told him to stop, and then how you shot him. I’d get him to write it down, but he’s in the morgue. His family’s going to be planning his funeral, Miss. West. You telling the truth will help them put this to rest. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

It didn’t.

The guy was a piece of shit. I did the world – and his family – a favor. It may sound harsh, but it was the truth.

I took a sip of soda, and glanced at the notepad. After another drink, I reached for the pen. I closed my eyes and tried to recall exactly what happened. The sound of the door unlocking caused me to look up.

A handsome man who was wearing slacks and a dress blazer walked in.

Jacky stood and gave a sharp nod toward the man. “Detective Watson.”

Jones looked nervous. He extended his hand. “Watson.”

Watson looked at Jones, didn’t shake his hand, and then shot a quick glance at me. He nodded his head once as if affirming my presence and then turned toward the two outwardly nervous detectives.