The Death of a Radio Host

Cecil's contract was renewed for another five years with a 20% raise. Dr. Jones said, that's your handwriting, isn't it, Cecil? Couldn't be station management's handwriting, they don't even exist. After they left, I stood at the open door of station management's office. It was covered in mounds of dust and cobwebs. There were no footprints or any indication that anyone had been in there for at least 40 years. Who's next to be explained away? Sheriff Sam Dana? Big Rico Teddy Williams? Me? Carlos? No. I can't think of these things. I must do what I do best, and that is broadcast