Grand Guginol

“Isn’t murder against Mithras’ teachings?”

“This is self-defense.”

“So’s this.”

I kicked the rotted chair leg right into Rhames’ face. It turned into a dust cloud the second it hit, making the Hierophant gag, choke, and drop the gun. I dove for it and gave him all six slugs, working from the chest up. I left the gun and walked out.


Bart’s disappearance and Rhames’ death were front page headlines for a couple a’ weeks. Neither case was ever connected to me or each other. Neither were ever solved.

Rhames’ widow married the fella I’d seen her with. I never got to tell Rhames that the man was Richard James, one a’ the wealthiest industrialists in the city wit‘ a taste for fine art. Probably wouldna made any difference.

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