Running From Legs and Other Stories

“Yeah,” Tigo said, his face splitting in a wide grin. “It ain’t been so bad, huh?”

“No, it’s been... well, you know, these guys on the club, who can talk to them?”

He picked up the gun.

“We could...” Tigo started.

“What?”

“We could say... well... like we kept shootin’ an’ nothing happened, so...” Tigo shrugged. “What the hell! We can’t do this all night, can we?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s make this the last spin. Listen, they don’t like it, they can take a flying leap, you know?”

“I don’t think they’ll like it. We supposed to settle for the clubs.”

“Screw the clubs!” Tigo said vehemently. “Can’t we pick our own...” The word was hard coming. When it came, he said it softly, and his eyes did not leave Dave’s face. “... friends?”

“Sure we can,” Dave said fervently. “Sure we can! Why not?”

“The last spin,” Tigo said. “Come on, the last spin.”

“Gone,” Dave said. “Hey, you know, I’m glad they got this idea. You know that? I’m actually glad!” He twirled the cylinder. “Look you want to go on the lake this Sunday? I mean, with your girl and mine? We could get two boats. Or even one if you want.”

“Yeah, one boat,” Tigo said. “Hey, your girl’ll like Juana, I mean it. She’s a swell chick.”

The cylinder stopped. Dave put the gun to his head quickly.

“Here’s to Sunday,” he said. He grinned at Tigo, and Tigo grinned back, and then Dave fired.

The explosion rocked the small basement room, ripping away half of Dave’s head, shattering his face. A small sharp cry escaped Tigo’s throat, and a look of incredulous shock knifed his eyes. Then he put his head on the table and began weeping.