Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Harold Brewster, Literary Critic

Published at Powder Burn Flash (2010)

Oliver sipped his tea and peered through the diner window. Two men in short blue jackets, the letters JSPD on the back, prepared to leave the alley. Chalk marks and blood stains denoted the spot where Harold Brewster's body had been found.

Oliver nodded in agreement with those around him who mumbled about what a wretched man Brewster had been and how he'd ruined many careers. Oliver had received his share of caustic reviews from the man, but unlike the others, he welcomed them. For every time Harold Brewster panned one of Oliver's novels, the local bookstore's stock sold out within days.

But Harold had gone too far this time.

Oliver's eyes darted around the room to make sure no one was watching. He removed the knife he'd cleaned in the diner's ill-kept restroom from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket and swapped it with the identical one on the table. Oliver figured that even if someone thought to look in the diner for the murder weapon, the knife would have been washed a number of times by then.

You got what you deserved, you old bastard, Oliver thought. How dare you give one of my books a positive review.

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