I awoke from an abrupt feeling in a dream of being done with murder. No, I imagine it’s the sound of tapping from the dripping faucet on the handful of silver spoons in the bottom of my sink until I squint through my lids and see a gun barrel softly nudging my brow, almost pulling my left eye completely open, pushing the eyebrow up with each rhythmic bounce. My right eye sees into the rifle as the gun pulls up and back for another tap. Strange that an empty circle moves me so much yet I don’t move a muscle at all.
“Kiss it,” a gravelly voice breathes.
“I won’t,” I said.
It drops onto my forehead. I hear a quick tiny click then my eardrums rupture from the explosion that blows a hole in the wall through the pillow next to my face. My skin burns where the barrel rests.
“You’re done. Out of the business,” he says. “It’s my way or my way. You pick.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
My fingers stretch for the trigger but I can’t reach. A fingernail better be enough. Another explosion, louder than the first and something is dripping in my eyes but my heart beats still.