As he lay there, gasping, expecting each ragged breath to be his last, he couldn't help reflecting on what had brought him to this situation. He knew the guy had been standing behind him. He knew the fucker was armed. Of course he was. But he went ahead and threatened the Monarch anyway. You don't do that. Especially when one of his men is standing behind you with a gun. Idiot. Now he was dead, well, dying. It wasn't true, he knew now, what they say about never hearing the shot that kills you. He heard it. A loud crack, like a violent period punctuating the sentence he should never have spoken.
He could hear the Monarch screaming at his guy. He couldn't move, he could barely breathe now, but his ears were still working perfectly. The fucker was really getting his ass chewed. The Monarch was not happy that Fucker had shot him. Not happy at all. There was a loud bang and then a dull thud. He tried to force his dying eyes to focus. There, lying in front of him, no more than a foot from his own face was that of Fucker, one eye staring straight at him. The other eye gone, blown away by the bullet. The Monarch was really not happy.
Then the Monarch's deep voice echoed in his now faltering ear, "Good night, Johnny. We almost had something beautiful."
He shut his eyes, all sound faded, his breathing stopped and for a second there was silence and peace and then there was nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment