The Make

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The instant the police were ushered into her office over the casino, Gracie Doyle knew there was trouble brewing. She was slouching in her chair, with her aching bare feet up on her desk after a long, long day. It was a cold, blustery Friday night, and in precisely a week’s time – seven days! Count ’em – it would be Christmas Day.

She was already sick of all the jingle-bells and fake bonhomie, the endless Wizard and Slade tracks being pumped out of every shopping mall’s sound system, the crazed crush of people wherever you went. Bad things happened at Christmas. For instance, her dad had died just before last Christmas Day. Fatal heart attack, right there in the middle of the casino boulevard. Boom! One minute there, the next – gone. Gracie hated Christmas.

Now she was just sitting, contemplating what she would actually do over the festive break – as usual, she’d made no real plans and also as usual she hadn’t even put up a tree in her flat – fuck that – when there was a knock on the door and two cops, one male, one female, were shown in by Brynn, the manager.

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