May 22, 2005

I Never Did Like to Shoot a Dame

[The story begins here.]

The worn old GI .45 felt good in my hand and I slapped her across the temple with the barrel and made for the door. I never did like to shoot a dame, and this time it almost killed me. Her first shot went wild but the second caught me in the ribs low on the right-hand side. Then I had to shoot her after all. I staggered out into the drumming downpour, cursing myself for a fool.

I walked until I could hardly stand, going noplace but away from there and looking over my shoulder with every step. I holed up in an alley til I could walk again but still my head wouldn't settle down. In another alley I shared a quart of Dago red with a rough old bum who couldn't speak. The wine cleared my thoughts and I set out for the edge of town, to find a place out of that relentless rain. The next alley I passed I heard a sound just a hair too late. The sap caught me behind the ear and all I knew was a moment of roaring flashing obscurity as I fell.

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