The Blade Itself

And then he was bending to scoop up the gun. It felt heavy in his hand, heavier than he’d expected. Hot and vaguely oily. He fought a mad urge to come up blasting away like in some seventies cop show. He had to get closer.

He walked on tiptoe, his arm rigid ahead of him. Locked on Evan like a compass pointing north. Each terrible step brought him nearer. He became aware of his breathing, how shallowly he was drawing air into his lungs. The weight of the gun kept his muscle tensed. How much time had passed? Probably only seconds. Felt longer. Felt like eternities had flowed beneath his feet. He thought of Debbie, eternally reaching for grace. The veins in his throat throbbed. He could taste sweat on his upper lip. Every careful step brought him closer. He wanted to cock the gun, but was afraid the noise would give him away. He thought it would fire anyway. Wasn’t cocking just to make it faster, smoother? He thought of Patrick, his laughter silenced with a bullet, body dumped in the river like trash. Da

A dozen feet away, Da

The click echoed loud in the open space.

Evan whirled, instinct driving him back from the detective, bringing his arm over, aiming without hesitation. Da

Then Evan laughed. “All those times you told me not to play with guns, you should have been learning how they worked.”

On TV, the cops slid the top part of the gun back before firing. He tried it. But when he pulled the trigger again, another click rang out.

“It’s empty.” Evan smiled, his pistol never leaving Da

Da

He was out of moves.

“Fu

“Except Patrick.” His voice came out weary, too tired for rage.

“Can’t make an omelet, you know?” Evan shrugged. “But it’s still quite a picture. We got the whole range. The criminal. The cop. And whatever it is you are, Da

“I’m…” He paused like he was hesitating, then took a step forward. “I’m just a regular guy.” If he could get close enough, he might be able to make a lunge.

Evan smiled again. “You’re starting to piss me off. Stop trying to win. Don’t you get it? You scored last time. Now it’s my turn.”

Da

“Easy my ass.” With his left hand, Evan dug in an i

“Which am I?”

“I know you like to believe you’re an i

No point in lying. “Yes.”

Evan smiled, took a step back, and turned to Nolan. “You hear that, Sean? Got your cuffs handy?”

Nolan’s voice was calm, almost clipped. “Shut it, convict.”

Evan’s smile twisted into a snarl. His fist lashed out, pistol-whipping the detective across the face. Nolan’s head snapped sideways, but he didn’t make a sound. A line of blood cut across his cheek.

“A little respect, motherfucker.”

Da

“Hey,” Evan said, his voice suddenly light as he turned back to Da

“I climbed.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Now that sounds like fun. I bet you felt more alive than you had the last ten years.”

Da

“Come on, admit it, man. It’s just like the game. You remember? Pisser?” Evan smiled, an old comradely grin.

“I remember.”

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Da

Evan stared at him like he was reading something in his soul, the smile slowly fading. He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice came out soft. “Don’t you get it? The game never ends.”

And despite everything, for an instant, Da

And then Evan shook his head. “Ah well. Time to go.” He raised the pistol to point at Da

The slapping of his heart seemed to bend the ribs of his chest. Da

“Wait.” He stared past the pistol, to Evan. His fingers tingled. “One last favor?”

Evan cocked his head. “Your credit isn’t much good here, Da

“For old times’ sake.”

“What?”

“Do him first.” Da

Evan narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Da

Evan looked at him for a long moment. His eyes grew colder, and darker. “Never would have believed it.” His voice dripped contempt. “You’re a coward.”

Da

Evan stared at him, then slowly shrugged. “All right. For old times’ sake.” He took two steps toward the snapping plastic, and turned to Nolan. “Good night, Sean.” He raised the gun like a piece of clockwork, bringing it to Nolan’s forehead.

Da

The thirty-pound duffel bag took Evan dead in the chest. He staggered backward, arms flailing, fire blasting from the gun. His back hit the sheeting, and for one terrible moment it held.

Then his weight ripped it from the ceiling and Evan McGa

The silence that followed was broken only by the wind-whipped crack of the loose tarp and the sound of Da