Defective Goods

Viana reached through the window, unlocked the car door and yanked it open.

            "Hey, you drunk! Wake up and get moving," he shouted. "You mess up my parking lot."

            He tapped the man's shoulder firmly. There was no response. He pushed. With the second jolt, the body flopped over onto its right shoulder; the head lolled loosely. The eyes did not flutter open, but his suit jacket sure did.

            We looked at each other, and then we looked at the red-brown stain that covered the unknown man's chest. Usually I’m not so slow to connect the dots. Perhaps it was the fact that my caffeine kick was inside my car instead of inside me, but it took a moment before it dawned on me that the stain was blood and the man was dead.