Groundswell is a pulp-noir detective story that popped into my head the other day. It will be presented here, serialized, as I write it.
“First that Cotton boy went and shot hisself right there in front of the whole class, then they found that poor little Stanford girl down at Bobcat Creek with her damn head on backwards. And who knows what happened to ol’ Charlie Bishop? Only way they knew it was him was they found his MedicAlert bracelet in the wood chipper. Rest of him was all ground chuck. And now this. All in one month! Now you tell me there ain’t some crazy devil worshipper shit goin’ on around here. This shit ain’t normal.”
Logan Hayes sipped what remained of his lukewarm coffee as he eavesdropped on the diners occupying the booth behind him at Rosie’s Cafe. He wasn’t trying to snoop, but Okies tended to…
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