Gunshot Wound

It was the funniest thing. I had never been shot before but I had thought about it so much that I was sure I would know what it would feel like. But now that I see my blood seeping through my sweater I laugh at my arrogance. It feels nothing like I thought. Not noble or grand. There even isn’t a lot of pain. I don’t feel shot. I feel punched. The clarity of though, I thought I would have is not here. I figured I would get to play up and act the great death seen. All I did was fall against the wall and slide down it clutching my stomach. It isn’t pain, just a hurt in my belly. All I can think of is the pain that I know is coming when the adrenaline wears off. I am scared, that is one thing I didn’t think would happen. I am scared I am going to die. That I am not finished doing what I am supposed to do. The metallic taste in my mouth is what I fear most. I always get that taste when I am sick. But I am not sick; I am dying of a gunshot wound.


Bill had watched the guy clutch his belly and slide down the wall. He looked shocked, no, surprised. Like when you expect something and then it doesn’t happen or not happen like it was supposed to. Well it didn’t go like it was supposed to. A simple meeting, to exchange information, but too many strange things went on. The meeting place was changed; the contact changed, the manner of exchange changed. All that was the same was me. But that is a lie, I was changed too, I was nervous as hell. Every instinct told me to get out, to bail but I am duty bound to my organization. When that goofball stated to act like James Bond I started to loose my cool. Then the dumb fuck reached into his jacket. I shot him out of sheer instinct. Who the hell keeps his smokes in the inside pocket. It is done now, he has stopped bleeding and his hand lays limp on his lap. Number 37 or is it 38? I never did know if that Asian guy bit it.

Detective Warren looked at the pale face of the victim. Not a quick death but not a slow one. He didn’t look to be in a lot of pain but then adrenaline would have taken care of that. He bled to death before the pain hit him. A .38 by the looks of it, small, light and easily concealed. Burn marks on the sweater so he was shot at close range. But why here and why this guy. He was small time. Usually a getter of coffee and donuts. His wallet was still in his pants so a robbery was out. An exchange gone wrong? But what went wrong? This guy didn’t have a weapon; he wouldn’t have had time to fire unless he got off the first shot and the other guy took his gun. But leave the wallet? No, he had no gun. Killed to keep him quiet. No, this was too small time. Maybe it was his first exchange and he spooked the other guy. Probably. That is how I’ll write it up. Button this one up quick. It’s an internal matter between two organizations. They’ll take care of it in their own way in their own time. They always do. I still have to wrap up that dumpster murder before the trail grows cold.

He watched the cop get back into his car amid the flashing lights of police and ambulance drivers. There will be hell to pay for this. It will be explained away but he will have to pay for it in some way. I’ll get expelled to Hong Kong again to do errands for that fat fuck Quan. At least I’ll get to see Sherri again….


I have died of a gunshot wound. Dammit, I had so much left to do.