Jill Munroe (A Farrah Tribute)

Jill Munroe rounded the service-way corner, pulling her Smith & Wesson .38 special from her hip holster, Sabrina right behind her.
“Last contact with Kelly before her radio went dead, she was in that warehouse!” Sabrina pointed.
The door was a nondescript, white, service-bay door, the pad-lock haphazardly tossed aside.
“There is no way she would go in without back up!” Jill stated.
“Bosley swears he heard another voice; a man!”
“Jericho!” Jill pulled a errant strand of sandy blonde hair from her eyes.
Sabrina nodded, “We’ve been watching him for months. Maybe Kelly thought he’d put enough drugs into the hands of babies!”
“She not this reckless; something went wrong. Come on!” Jill hugged the wall of a neighboring building slipping into a shadowed doorway as the bay door began to open.
A battered Kelly Garrett came running out, blouse torn; face bruised. Giving chase was Arnold Jericho; crime boss and drug dealer. He leveled his .45 at Kelly, just as Jill took aim.
A shot fire.
“You ok?” Jill asked.

View this story's 1 comments.