From TC 9:1 – “Do Not Go Gentle” by Richard Wolkomir


“What’d your cat say?” Elroy asked.

No response.

They stood down there on the dock—the man, dog, and cat—staring up at his house, their skiff bobbing beside the dock where the lanky man just tied it. Elroy figured he must be a crabber from across the river in Old Cootchicalla. He had that sun-bleached look—unkempt yellow hair and mustache, both faded to straw.

Now the short-legged dog plopped down onto the dock, yawning in the Florida sunshine. Probably a Welsh corgi, Elroy thought, except its eyes seemed preternaturally bright. It gazed genially at Elroy. But the black cat and the crabber exchanged another long stare.

Elroy knew a conference when he saw one.

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