It’s Always the Pretty Ones

Dzinski pulled the envelope from his drawer and handed it to the woman sitting across from him. He saw her trembling, and thought about saying something. Maybe how she’d be better off not looking. That some pictures you never forget.

They never listen, so he leaned back in his chair and scratched a match against his thumbnail. She started bawling, and he let her get it out. After about two minutes of watching her hide her face in her hands, he lit his cigarette.

“I knew,” she said. “I knew it!”

He had nothing to say to that. He waited.

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