Gangrene by R.S. Bohn

GANGRENE - R.S. BOHN

 

His penis looked like an olive with the pimento sucked out.

“Perhaps gangrene, Mr. Shaw,” I said. Judging by the smell, I wasn’t far off.

“Look, just give me something, would ya?”

I took a bottle from my bag. “It won’t help. I should send you for tests.”

He unscrewed the top and shook out two, swallowing them. “Have you ever met my wife, doc?”

Shimmying into trousers, he led me to a closed door. The smell upon opening knocked me back. Inside, his wife lie chained to the bed, struggling and gnashing her teeth.

“She died three weeks ago.” He slapped my shoulder. “And things ain’t never been better.”