The Prodigal Son

By archiew

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Length: 2,710 words
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This is one of the few short stories I have written; I hope to write, and post, more.


The bottle was open and there was a rocks glass, half full of ice, next to it. Wes swore to himself that the briefcase was empty since this morning when he'd arrived at the office and emptied it himself. There was that unmistakable odor of Hai Karate, too, much stronger than the mellow, inviting scent of the scotch whiskey.


The drive home that night was a strange one. Thoughts of Wes' Dad kept coming through. Wes even lit his cigarette with a match instead of with the electric lighter in the dash like he always did. Dad never used the dash lighter. He used matches. Well, the briefcase was not going to get to him. It was all in his head. Wes was happy he had left the old briefcase at his office.



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