Family Business

by Noel Osualdini

Two policemen at the door. I wipe a spatter of blood from the glass.

First cop, accusingly: “Haven’t seen your wife around for a while, John.”

“At her mother’s,” I reply. I nudge a cold forelimb out of sight.

“And your kids?”

The hum of a bandsaw from the next room, whining as it hits bone. Stained sawdust at their feet.

“Can I help you two gentlemen with anything?” I venture.

The first cop regards something over my shoulder, points it out to his partner.

The second cop, reading: “Yeah, two barbeque packs and a kilo extra of sausages, thanks.”

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