A Story For Sunday: Copped It by Graham Wynd

The only sound in the squalid room was the relentless dripping, as if someone had neglected to turn the tap all the way round. Their breath filled the small space, too, but that was slowing, quieting. Dixon looked over at Burnett, worried by his lack of movement. He slumped on the pile of boxes on that side of the storeroom.
‘Hey, hey. You still alive, right?’

A cough, a gasp, then an oath. ‘Who were those guys?’

Read the rest at The All-New A Twist Of Noir.

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