The knock on the door sounded like an elephant.
“Can I help ya—” The door flew open, ripped from his hand. A huge bald guy—Mr. Elephant, himself—burst into the apartment,
slamming Tyrell hard against the wall. Too hard from the crunch.
Two other menacing suits stood in the doorway, their guns on him. Tyrell closed his eyes and felt the drywall dust drifting down his face. Must have broken the wall. Damn, a repair bill. Make the best of it.
He smiled broadly. “So … what do y’all want?”
“Ludlow? Tyrell Ludlow?” asked Elephant.
“Please, come with us.”
Tyrell pulled himself out. “Why not?”
The security footage exposed him plainly. There he was in the PrestoMart with the Doritos and Coke. The dumb kid panicking, shooting him dead in the chest. Him shrugging, taking the gun away.
Elephant returned to the interview room. “The feds want to talk to you.”
“I figured.” Damn that kid. And cameras.
The detective pinched his long nose. “It’s quite a story.”
“Yep.” Tyrell leaned back.
“It flowed out of the sea?”
Tyrell shook his head. His eyes glowed. “Yep.” I knew I shouldn’t have touched it. Damn those aliens. And curiosity.
Picture is copyright by Iñaki Bolumburu.
Daily Post prompt. (200 words)