Last Rites
© 2000, Herb Hasler
The
unthinkable finally happened.
A man lay dead inches from their cruiser, a bullet in his head. Kurt calmly re-holstered his weapon and searched the body while Raymond nervously scanned the quiet ghetto street.
“Why
did you shoot?” Raymond asked, his body trembling.
“Because,”
Kurt pulled out a switchblade and placed it in the dead man’s hand, “he came
at me with a knife.”
“No!”
Raymond dropped to his knees in front of the body, his head bowed.
Kurt
turned to greet the arriving backup unit.
“What’s
in his hand?” the backup officer asked.
“A crucifix,” Raymond said solemnly.