A loaded gun, empty bottle and head full of questions. Guilt and suspense. First try at this, please join in and take it wherever you'd like!
Rain fell in heavy torrents thumping out a drum-roll on the slick asphalt. A drum-roll that didn't stop when a gun-shot clash marked the climax. Rick watched the man slump against the brick wall and slide down amongst the grime of the alley with a gurgle. He had a cigarette lit before he hit the ground. Taking a deep drag off his Parliament Rick paused to think of the man's family, of his dreams, all hope of seeing either dashed through by hot lead. Fuck it, he thought, why not?
Walking along the street Rick spat the butt of his cigarette into the gutter. It was caught by the steady stream of rain water and disappeared down the drain. Like so many sad fucks in this city. He pulled his brim down low and shoving his hands in his pocket, walked on. Behind him the wail of sirens made their innevitable entrance.
Satisfaction did not come from a freshly emptied chamber in his .38 special. Satisfaction didn't come from a freshly emptied glass of cheap whiskey either. So he ordered another. A job's a job, he kept telling himself, like always. And as always, his self counsel didn't help. After the bar he hit a certain house off 19th street where he knew he'd find cold sex for his hot remorse.
The whore bounced up and down, Rick lay back with his hands behind his head. He found it was easier if he didn't look at the hag, so he closed his eyes and listened to the slippery thump of flesh on flesh, the prostitute's moans and his occasional groan welling up in his stomach but never making it so far as his throat. He thought back on the events leading up the job, the personal grudges and the lucrative pay-out. Somehow it just didn't seem worth it anymore, something didn't add up. He had acted rashly, but something didn't add up. But what?
The woman's moan turned into a sudden sharp shriek and something soft, hot and wet splashed across his chest. This dry old sack of broken dreams just...? His eyes flashed open. No, it was blood. Before the scag fell away, Rick caught the glint of steel sticking through her throat.
Rick shoved her off and dove for his gun hanging from the bedpost. But there was nobody in the empty hall, only the sound of retreating footsteps, tripping down the stairs. Rick flew down the hall to catch his assailant in the nude, doors opening and almost pretty faces peaking out in alarm. Loose ends? But what? This should be over, god dammit! Downstairs a shriek from a nearby room was followed by a skinny old man and a heavy-set whore running out into the hall and down the stairs. The killer was in there, so Rick did what he did: Pull back the hammer on his revolver, say a prayer to the devil and walk straight in.