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Sights and sounds registered like simple check marks in a type of staccato log.
Bobby s car engine slid into drive.
Headlights bounced over him.
The engine gunned as Bobby stomped the accelerator.
A loud bump as the car jumped the divider and came down with a scrape.
Ahead of Frank, Vespucio turned.
The headlights drew parallel with the sidewalk.
Frank walked faster.
Vespucio looked at the car.
Frowned.
He knows, thought Frank. He knows it s on.
Vespucio turned.
And saw Frank.
Frank drew his hand from his pocket, already thumbing the safety off and leveling it on Vespucio s
head.
Vespucio s eyes went white.
Blood sank out of his face.
The blonde screamed when she saw the gun.
But Frank didn t care about her. He only cared about Vespucio.
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slow, starting to squeeze the trigger.
***
Stahl covered the distance quickly. He bounced into the side of the alley, stumbling as he walked.
He giggled.
The man looked up, suddenly hurrying to open his door. He fumbled with his keys.
Excuse me, said Stahl. Is there a pub around here that s open at this ungodly hour? I need a
drink in the very worst way.
The man looked up. Stahl could see the tension in his face.
But Stahl kept smiling. Always smiling. He was just an innocent drunk after all. Just a foolish man
who d had a few too many and wanted a few more before calling it a night.
The man hesitated but then grinned. I think there s a place around the corner.
Stahl put his hand out to the man s shoulder. I cannot thank you enough, my friend.
And then he shoved him back against the doorjamb, twisting the man s body as he did so. His keys
skittered to the ground.
Stahl s hand came up aiming the Beretta between the man s eyes.
***
Frank squeezed the trigger.
Stahl squeezed the trigger.
Again.
Again.
Even as their bullets found the heads of their respective targets something rocked both Frank and
Stahl. An explosion of pain surged through their skulls; a roar like standing next to a jet engine filled
their ears; their vision blurred and then blackened.
Then the roar faded.
Frank opened his eyes. A dead bald guy with two entry wounds in his skull looked up at him with
vacant eyes. Blood and bits of brain splattered the nearby doorjamb.
Where the hell am I?
Stahl opened his eyes. He saw the fat man dead at his feet, blood already mixing with the cold rain
that coursed along the gutter. Next to the body, a scantily dressed blonde screamed.
In& English?
Stahl frowned.
He was in Germany wasn t he?
Another explosion roared in their heads; another wave of pain crashed down.
Frank s eyesight clouded.
Stahl grabbed his head.
***
It cleared then. Frank saw the terrified tart on the sidewalk before him.
He saw Vespucio.
Dead.
Two tiny holes punctured his forehead.
Frank took a shaky breath and trained his .22 on the blonde. You know me?
She shook her head like a rattle. N-n-no.
If you ever do, I ll find you. He stared at her once more for effect.
He pocketed the gun and slid into the car.
Next to him, Bobby whooped and jumped on the gas pedal. Wow!
The car shot away from the curb. Frank took a breath. Slow down. I don t want any cops pulling
us over for speeding for crying out loud.
The pain in his head lingered, but diminished quickly.
In the rearview mirror, he could still see the blonde screaming for help. Vespucio s body filled a
large portion of the mirror, but it kept getting smaller. Like the pain.
Bobby took a corner and the image vanished.
What the hell happened to me back there?
***
Stahl s vision cleared. He was back in the alley. The rapist lay dead at his feet, a long trail of red
blood scarred the white entryway. The bullets had exited the rear of the man s skull, jetting bits of gray
matter about. Odd that the .22 rounds had exited the skull. They usually stayed inside and danced
around the cavity. No matter, the rapist was dead.
He heard the car come up.
Stahl turned and slid into the front seat. The pain in his head subsided. He nodded at the older
man. Let s go.
He s dead?
He won t be raping any more children in this lifetime, said Stahl.
He glanced at the doorway one last time.
That pain. Those images. That roar.
What had just happened to him?
Visit Jon F. Merz on the web at http://www.jonfmerz.net
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