short story titled "Suicide Kings"

Just started a short story I'm titling Suicide Kings. The main character is a cop, which is a departure for me as I'm much more likely to write about a crook but it just made sense for this story so I'll have to try and make it work. Basically there is a group convincing people to kill themselves, though they are not a cult, but to what end then? It takes place in a small redneck town with a police force of four people, one of which is the main character. Here's the intro:

As he stared into the abyss of the barrel silence was his mind. The trigger beckoned. Decidedly he answered its call with a slight adjustmen of a finger. The abyss swollowed him whole.

"You know, for once I'd like some novelty to breakfast," said the fat man. "What, coffee and donuts suddenly not good enough for you?" Marcus said, dry as always. "Well what about cappuccino and a fruity pastery?" the fatman never ceases to annoy, it seems. At this point, I stop listening.

Something has caught my eye. "Hey guys, you know if it wasn't for reporters would all be out of jobs?" I mention and to Marcus and the man of many rolls. Then the boss steps in, "Yeah and if it wasn't for reporters mine wouldn't be in constant jeopardy." "Hey chief," everyone replies. "So, tell me James, what criminal enterprise have reporters stumbled upon today that we where oblivious too... again." the boss asks me. I reply, "Well not necassarily a case, just a hunch." "Uhuh." "As you know, suicide is rare in these parts." "Yeah." "Especially with such as small population." "Get to the point." "There have been four suicides in the past four days."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't we the ones who decide whether the cause of death is suicide? Why wasn't I informed?" Everyone stares at the fatman. "Well they all left notes." The cheif is looking like he needs high blood pressure pills at this point by the pulsating of his neckviens. "I see. So your telling me you, a trained officer, should not see anything strange in daily suicide in a town with a population that barely constitutes it as a town and a dimwit reporter in another area picks up on it, has time enough to write a story, and..." at this point he grabs the newspaper from my hand with a speedy eye for the punchline, and quotes "this story 'cocludes that once again the four man police force of Evergreen Creek does not have the ability to investigate so coverups are likely.' Do you have any reason how bad this press makes us look, makes me look. I'll have you know I'd sooner see you replaced than me! Now find out what's going on our its your badge!"

The fatman is in shock. His dreams of fruity pasteries are dropping before his eyes like that donut from his mouth as his jaw opens wide. "Oh get a grip, will you, this is your f***up, fatboy, get off your a** and into the truck," Marcus says with a spark of intellectual life I thought could not be found after his braincells' mass suicide due to Budweiser. And with that, we all hop in the truck to go revisit the survivors.