Chapter Thirteen

It was Burgle with a bullet.
It was Graydon with a gun.
It was Heloise Horter
in the Hall of Heroes at One Hundred Harper’s Way
with a harpoon whip.
What’s a harpoon whip?
Reread chapter thirteen.

It was the secret senator
out for a final snort of the good stuff
before the blackmailer gave up the ghost
and admitted she had nothing to sell.
It was Uncle Irving in the Oyster Cloister.
It was James Dean at the start of his career.
It was Amanda Dunkle at the end of hers.

It was the cheat detective,
falsifying evidence
to finally break the big case
so that her career would be made
and she could stop charging two hundred dollars a day
plus expenses.
It was you, it was me,
it was the eggman…
all three.

It was society that did it
since the beginning of time
with its inability
to look out for every constituent
and the necessity of humans
to be cruel and efficient
and to destroy.
It was just us
all along.

Next question:
just what is it
that we’ve been accused of doing?
The defense rests.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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