John Rigol

Hyenas in a Domed Savanna John Rigol

He looked like uncooked dough that had fled the pizzaiolo's hands and landed atop a stove with cooking utensils on it.

Ghost, as twisted as the trunk of an antiquated olive tree, was draped over seats 15, 16, and 17 in Section 281 on the Plaza level of the Louisiana Superdome. With blood in the first stages of gelation having run out of his nose, mouth, and ears, he was quite recently dead.

It was apparent my subordinate, Agent I Langdon "Ghost" Dickerson, had fallen from somewhere in front of Section 347 on the Loge level above. But how and, the more significant question, why?

I didn't know it then, but his death would transform my pedestrian life into a gruesome fairy tale.