Chances are…..

PUBLISHED: JULY 2003/july 2005 Gunsels,GunMolls, & Private Dicks Collection

PUBLISHER: PLOTS WITH GUNS/ Omenspirits.com

WEBSITE: WWW.PLOTSWITHGUNS.COM

 

Last:

It ended like this.

"Y-you’re not going to get away with this! You won’t, you just--- hah! hear that!” There were noises at the office door. Men, five, maybe ten of ’em, bangin’ away at them deep black-wood double doors, with brass handles. “Open this door! Now! We know you’re in there Knoxville! Give up! Cop killers don’t stand a chance. Don’t go makin’ it any worse by doin’ this! We know about the others…..give yourself up!” Someone said while the bunch slammed themselves against the middle of that door. His voice was kinda muffled. I reckon it’d be tha Polelease. I dinn’t rightly care. I turned muh attention back on Mister Armani suit. Him behind his big desk, in his big o-ffice with uh view of the ‘Strip’.

“Ya know pardner,” I said to this piece ‘a horse manure, “I don’t rightly care iffin it was Jesus Christ himself that wus knockin’ on that door, tellin’ me he wus gonna give me salvation from the things I’d done (God forgive me). But, you just ain’t leavin’ this room breathin’. An’ dammit, If it comes to it, neither will I! This here .44”, That I looked at with great favor, “this here .44 in my right hand right now, Chrome shinin’ and all, looks even better aimed at ya head!” I cocked the hammer back, liftin’ that big gun, aimin’ it with the sites, straight to the middle of his tanned forehead. Laser sites are for men with no balls. No skill. He wus tryin’ to stay calm, but sweat wus beadin’ on that lovely fake-tanned forehead. His words spilled outta his no lipped mouth like drool from a baby’s chin.
“L-look here! I-I don’t know why you’re coming in here, and why you’re waving that gun in my face, and I don’t much care at this point! I-I’ll do anything, give anything, for you not to kill me!” His voice pled to a greedy side I never had. I let ‘em keep tryin’. He was givin’ me more reason to shoot him. More than I already done had.

“What do you want, huh? Money? Is it money you want? Is it! Yeah, you want money, that’s it. You’re in here trying to muscle me for money. That’s what everyone wants in this town! That’s what you want, right?”
I let the chrome of that .44 catch the ceilin’ light, lettin’ it flash over his eyes. I can feel muh back teeth startin’ ta ache. I let muh jaw relax. In the background, noises from the cops, slammin’ fists against that solid door. Good thing that this fool done had such a big ego, getting’ such expensive doors put on’a room he don’t live in.

“Well, pardner, you just don’t get it. And chances are……..”
The moment snapped and I wus up on him. The .44 barrel tip was flush against his forehead. The Polelease screamed off in tha background fore some crowbars and a battering ram. But, I had all tha time in tha world. His green eyes focused upwards, starin’ at the barrel. He followed the barrel down, meeting me eye to eye.

He spoke with a druggie’s fervor.
“What! What! What do you wa-hant then!” His mouth quivered, tears fell, and I swear he pissed ‘emself.

I pulled that .44 away from his head, flicked the rollin’ chamber open, flung it back in with a flick, puttin’ it back against his forehead. “Her name,” The finger. The hammer. ”was Cindy.” A click. A split-second hit. A whiff’a gunpowder.
His last thoughts joined that bullet……….buried in his wall.

Cindy.

 

 

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