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settled in between the two policemen. A smell like natural gas followed.
    “Good… evening…” Eugene stammered. “Can I help any of you?”
    The prisoner spoke. “Are you the purveyor of this fine establishment?” he asked in a raspy voice. As he gestured with his arms, the handcuffs reflected the overhead lamps, sending their light dancing uncomfortably across Eugene’s face.
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Then indeed it is your lucky day,” he said coldly. The prisoner continued, pointing a finger toward Eugene. Something told the shop keep that this wasn’t the kind of luck one wished for. “I have a couple of questions that need answering and you… well, you are the man for the job.”
    He waved his pointing hand and the policemen fell back a few steps.
    Shorty broke away and walked toward the door. After a quick look around, he found the switch for the “OPEN” sign and flipped it. The letters faded as he returned to the other officer’s side.
    Eugene felt a rumble in the pit of his stomach and his heart began to pound in his chest. He couldn't focus on any one thing, desperately needing some comfort in this extremely uncomfortable situation. Maybe if he could move his hands beneath the counter and press the silent alarm or maybe if he could snag his shotgun to pepper these assholes, he would feel better and safer. All was for naught when the effort was stopped before it even began.
    “Ah ah ah,” said the prisoner as both cops reached for their weapons. “I know what you're thinking. We’ve no time for company just yet. You and I still have to chat.”
    The sweat stung as Eugene tried to watch the detainee through squinted eyes, still catching brief flashes of light from off the cuffs.
    The man leaned forward. “So my good man, have you had any visitors tonight?” Good lord his breath was terrible, as if strips of meat were trapped between his teeth since the days his shirt was pure white.
    “No,” said Eugene amidst a cough that brought up a little bit of sick with it.
    The prisoner’s look screamed liar.
    “No… one of any importance,” Eugene corrected, coughing once more.
    “Hmmm,” pondered the convict. “Is that so? I’ll be the judge of that.”
    Just my luck , Eugene thought. What kind of gangland crap has that son of a bitch brought on me?
    “So this ‘nobody important.’ Who was he?” The man picked up a quarter and started to tap the glass with it.
    “Some kid” he told him, “maybe in his early twenties. I didn’t catch a name.”
    “A shame,” he replied, pausing to look at the coin in detail. He placed it back on the countertop before picking up another, shiner one. “Paid by cash did he? Well, it's a good thing he wasn’t all that important.”
    Eugene fell silent, as if he stopped breathing.
    “So, was he with anyone else?” the man pressed, continuing to knock the countertop with his fresh coin.
    “Nobody in the store,” Eugene replied. The tapping grew faster and he wiped his forehead with a sleeve; was the heating unit on? The air was notably hotter and patchy sweat stains had formed under his arms and across his lower back.
    “There was someone out in the vehicle, well two actually: a man and a woman. I couldn’t see either of them very well.” The non-stop tapping was getting to him, now beating against the inside of his skull. “Stop it!” he exclaimed before dialing his voice way down, “please?”
    The prisoner flicked the change toward Eugene, striking him on the chin. “So there were three total,” he said, looking over his shoulder. With a head jerk the cops promptly stepped up to each side. “The vehicle they were in, was it a truck?”
    “Yes,” he answered curtly. Maybe a shift in tone would get these men to leave. “Are we close to being done; I was quite busy beforehand…”
    Ignoring him, the questioning continued. “So do you know where were they going? Where they live?”
    “What the? How am I supposed to know that? I have no goddamn