• Crust by Trey R. Barker

    “What you doing, Detective?” “Saving you,” I said. “Cain’t tell if you asking or telling.” “Does it matter?” “You…you cain’t prove anything. I ain’t going to jail.” “Does this look like the way to jail?” I drove through an ugly part of town, the last bit of civilization before the desert took over. Light industrial […]

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  • 6/8 by Trey R. Barker

    Jazz bop rebop and she won’t leave my head. But I got Miles, too, bopping cool but hot as a gun barrel. Touch it and the hot burns and why’s it always night time dark time when I’m digging Miles?  Or Brown or Rollins. Night and rain and she’s two years gone. Thunder like jazz […]

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  • Cheating by Trey R Barker

    He shoved his fingers deep inside her, dug for evidence. Her skin crawled.  “Find anything?” “Eighty percent of women cheat.”  He looked at his fingers, wiped them on her shirt. “And one hundred percent of men.”  She jerked her shorts up. He glared.  “You’re cheating.  Why else would you ignore my Kingsnake?”  His voice softened […]

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  • Flashing Tin by Trey R. Barker

    He flashed tin and I laughed. “Why’re you laughing?  I’m on the Merit Commission.” As the junior member of minor commission that handed out minor Sheriff’s Office promotions. “And?” I said. “I gotta get home.” “Road’s closed.  Whole town’s closed.” “I know that.”  Red-faced, he shook his badge at me. “Got some tin, huh?”  I […]

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  • Twenty-Four by Trey R. Barker

    My steel – cool as the falling rain – is jammed right in his face. He pisses himself, an ammonia rain between his legs. “You gonna pull me over, motherfuck?” I say. “The hell you think you are?” His name is Chance. ‘Officer Chance,’ he told me two nights ago. “Wha…I’m not…whoever you’re looking for.” […]

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  • Smoke by Trey R. Barker

    Interstate 80…mile marker 47…1:38 a.m. “Don’t fuck this up.”  Frankie says to Driver. “We got no problems, man.”  Driver stands on the shoulder, face harsh in the squad’s glaring spotlight.  Hands up, shaking.  Driver is scared to death; staring at the .45 staring at him. Frankie and Gary had pulled three Hefty bags stuffed with […]

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  • 6/8 by Trey R. Barker

    Jazz bop rebop and she won’t leave my head. But I got Miles, too, bopping cool but hot as a gun barrel. Touch it and the hot burns and why’s it always night time dark time when I’m digging Miles?  Or Brown or Rollins. Night and rain and she’s two years gone. Thunder like jazz […]

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