Concentrated Stupid.

Three shots rang out of the darkness. I hit the ground harder then a debutant's sweet sixteen dress behind a coat room door. I hurt. I could feel the growing blanket of warm underneath my shirt well enough to know I didn't need to look to see what it was. Not that it mattered anyway, bullet hit my spine shattering it like the innocence of a child who just discovered Santa isn't real.

At about this time between the gasps for air and the fight to gain a grasp on my pistol, the 'I told you so' from my better judgement crept up to remind me that I was a fool for trusting that half assed clown.

"Well, you gonna finish the job or just let me bleed out right here on the concrete floor?" All I was met with was a smile. That damn sharktoothed grin he always flashed when he thought he was being coy. "In due time," he hissed. "I just want to savor this moment. You know, the deep red of your blood matches that awful purple suit of yours to a T." He was probably right. He usually is.

He crouched down over me, a vulture waiting to pick my dead bones clean, only to add, "You were right not to believe me. This must be killing you, no pun intended, that you had to go along with me. To follow. Hoping I would lead you to the truth. Well, here it is: it was me. I killed the mayor." My god, it was so clear.

I knew he was involved but I only thought he was a pawn. A low level player in so deep his only option was to rely on me to save his sorry ass. Now it was my ass needed saving. What marvelous stroke of irony. I hate irony.

In my waning sight his outline reminded me of some bastard angel come to reap my soul to be served up to the devil in some ethereal feast. He casually continued, "That sorry crook. That hapless troglodyte thief. You drove yourself mad chasing him. Eating up every false word I fed you like a good son, hoping to collar some naif you thought was a criminal mastermind. Well, I wouldn't worry about him. Last I heard he was on extended vacation at the bottom of the Hudson with an ice pick in his skull. Case closed. I imagine that's a giant weight off of your shoulders." I tried desperately to spit back a screw you, but could barely muster a welp.

"So," he cheerfully said clearing his throat, "If we're finished here, I guess it's time to put you to sleep." I grit my teeth in anticipation ready to receive my permanent retirement.

It was the slam of a rusted steel dock door that snapped me back to reality. "Freeze damnit! Police!" My partner managed to find me in quite a compromising situation. I reckon I owe her a drink.

"Well well, whose this lovely little bird?" He said as though we were all old friends. "Don't you know it's impolite to point at someone? Especially a firearm."

"Drop the gun dirtbag or I gotta drop you!" And then a shot.

"No my little dove, I'm sorry to say it is you who is dropped!" There she was, lying not more then twenty feet from me one shot to the chest. Damn. She never was aggressive enough, always chirping away oblivious to the harsh, bitter, boozy assault of life. This was my golden opportunity. My redemption.

With a determination I've never known before I clasp the handle of my pistol. With the whole of myself I raise my arm exactly sync with him turning to face me again. I squeeze the trigger twice hoping lady luck gives me the courtesy of a reach around. One shot misses in a grand fashion, the second takes off the back of his skull. Pay back you son of a bitch.

So now here I lay, possibly the last moments of my pathetic life. Could I have done more? I really should have lost all that weight. No one wants to bury a fat man. But i got him. Ronnie M., Jesus I got him. I smile. Grimmace got him.