The Worst Witnesses
Less than helpful, more than bystanders
Plaster clung to my hair. My eyes wouldn’t stop watering.
“Tell me about the robbery.”
The copper was old enough to have experience, young enough to have hope and ambition. The woman he addressed clutched her phone.
“It was a heist,” her words were a nervous rush.
“What’s the difference?” he asked.
She shrugged, then played with her phone.
“What time-”
“A heist is an armed robbery.”
She shoved her phone in his face.
“That can't be right. Heists are sneaky. No one knows they’re happening until they’re over."
“Well, according to google,” she pointed at the bullet holes in the ceiling, “it's a heist.”
“Did you see anything useful?” he demanded.
“Sorry, when I'm overwhelmed, I lose consciousness. Like one of those fainting goats."
Two suits walked in.
“And you?” he asked me desperately.
“I got plaster in my eyes. Sorry.”
The suits reached us and flashed badges.
“What have you got?”
Defeated silence. One of the suits gave the copper a condescending smile.
“We’ll take it from here.”
The three walked away.
“Fainting goats?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Are you actually injured?”
I glared.
She smirked.
“Well, if we pull this off, we’ll buy you new eyes.”
About the Creator
Bethany G
I was looking for a new hobby
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