Page 1 of Wild Oblivion

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“I’m telling you, it was an old man,” Carlos said. “Like old, old.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “And you couldn’t catch up with him?”

“Man, I got a bum knee. And that dude had a gun!”

Carlos didn’t have time for that kind of drama. He was mid-30s with dark hair, brown eyes, and a healthy tan. A little thick around the midsection, Carlos wouldn’t be setting any records in the 100-yard dash.

Red and blue lights flashed as first responders swarmed the alley behind the liquor store. Brenda hovered over the remains of a man in his early to mid-40s. Crimson stained his shirt. He’d been popped twice in the chest.

No shell casings on the ground, as far as I could see. The shooter had either collected his brass or used a revolver. Some old timers favor revolvers. That was my bet.

Dietrich snapped photos, and forensic investigators chronicled the scene.

The fishy smell of sour trash drifted through the air from a nearby dumpster. It mixed with the tinny metallic scent of blood.

Sheriff Daniels looked on with a tight face.

The victim was dressed in a collared shirt, slacks, and penny loafers. He had sharp features, and his jaw sported a trimmed beard. His short, wavy, rust-colored hair and hazel eyes complemented somewhat fair skin. He certainly hadn’t been spending a lot of time in the Florida sun.

"Tell me everything," I said to Carlos.

He shrugged, then pointed at the deceased. "The guy left the store. He was accosted by the old man. Grandpa pulled a gun on him and escorted him around the building into the alley. I was checking out at the counter when I saw the two of them. A moment later, I heard the gunshots. I don't know what I was thinking. I rushed out of the store and ran toward the sound. Stupid. That's when I saw the old man taking off down the alley. I don't usually run in the direction of gunfire, but… I don’t know. Something came over me. I should get some kind of medal, right?”

I gave him a flat look. “Have you ever seen these two gentlemen before?”

Carlos shook his head.

“So you didn’t actually see the old man shoot the victim?”

His brow wrinkled. “No. But I didn’t need to. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No.” He thought for a moment. “Wait. Yeah. I don’t know if this matters, but they spoke to each other in another language. I think it was German. The old man was yelling at him.”

“You know what was said?”

He gave me a dumb look. “I don’t speak German. But the old guy was angry.”

“So, they knew each other?”

Carlos shrugged. “How should I know?”

“Describe the shooter.”

“Late 80s, silver hair, maybe six feet tall, kinda frail.”

“And he ran off,” I said, still with a hint of doubt.

“Yeah. Surprised the shit out of me.”

“Think you can give a description to a sketch artist?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I took his information and gave Carlos my card. “I’ll have someone contact you.”