The Killing League
“His tongue felt like balsa wood. The spike through his brain reminded him of the scenes from the Omen where photographs showed a giant iron crucifix thrust through the future heads of Satan’s victims. Mack was surprised at the severity of his hangover. He had downed the rest of the beers in the cooler after Adelia and Oscar left, but there hadn’t been that many. Maybe he was getting old. With that thought in mind, he rolled out of bed. His feet hit the floor with a thud that reverberated through his body. He looked up and out the bedroom door, judged the distance to the kitchen and the coffeemaker like the generals in World War Two judging the distance across a bridge too far. He stood, felt his insides shift and sweat broke out along his forehead. He walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, then went into the living room and sat in his favorite chair, facing the big picture window and the river. He’d been sitting in this chair a lot more lately, and he didn’t like it.
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