Posted by: docdenbow | September 5, 2012

My Gun Is Reasonably Brisk – An Homage

I dove deeply into the doorway quietly confident that I was was invisible to the street. A car passed and I instinctively ducked down low. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a Lucky Strike, and stepping right back, carefully lit it. I snapped my Zippo closed and watched the rain drip, drip, drip from the brim of my hat. My macintosh had kept me dry. It would need to be disposed of – later – and I’d need to dry off.

The street was lit by the yellow phosphorescent glow of the street lamps and the rain, the rain came down like it was piss from a thousand stallions and it gently steamed on the deserted street. My Lucky was palmed in my left hand to hide the glow of the tip and I took a deep draw and carefully exhaled the sweet nicotine. From where I stood silently I was invisible to the street, something I was sure of as two giggling broads with massive mammaries quickly tripped past with their stiletto pumps clicking on the sodden sidewalk as they huddled together under a single umbrella.

Across the street I could see a cop, a fat cop in a cape, making his miserable way along in silence as he was gently swinging his night-stick. This guy could end up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage I guess. As long as he didn’t see me until the last moment everything would be alright, of that I was quite sure.

I listened in silence to his footfall and the rain, all the time waiting, watching for the moment. The coming moment was my destiny, my duty, my purpose for being. I risked a second Lucky and waited as the seconds turned into minutes all the time thankful for the rain that was keeping the street clear of anyone who could get in the way of what I needed to achieve.

My heart was racing as I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He had appeared as if from nowhere. No macintosh, just an umbrella and a hat. He moved like a ballerina, whistling happily, not to himself, oh no. So loud was he was whistling that even the fat cop turned and looked at this preening and prancing abomination. Rain ran off the sodden sorry face, hands, fingers, hat and clothes and then he began some kind of synchopated jig.

The time had come……………

I stamped out my Lucky and stepped into full view drawing my piece from my pocket. The dancing fool stopped and looked me up and down and said,

“This guy isn’t mentioned in the script! Who is he? Where’s he come from?”

“Cut!!!!” screamed some guy with a megaphone, “Get this jerk off the set!.”

With that I raised my pistol and fired. Don Lockwood took the hit straight between the eyes and fell down backwards – very dead. I turned and ran, ran back to my own time as the fat cop stood there and just looked at Don Lockwood’s body.

At least we won’t have to watch bloody “Singin’ In The Rain” again this Christmas.

Ciao For Now



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