Noir: Peacemaker Redux

I spent the night in a spare room, well, spare in the sense that one of the ladies was ill that evening thus it was going unused. The walls were thin, and I sat on the floor rather than risk the bed.

My mind wandered through the evening, mostly on what would have happened if that goon had caught up with me. Hopefully he was satisfied sitting outside and assuming Nick had a penchant for more vices than alcohol.

I pulled my revolver to double check the loads. Half needed to be tamped back down a bit, but the others seemed alright. For a relic the Colt single action army .45 was at least reliable, albeit a tad unfashionable.

It felt heavy. It always had, ever since grandma had slipped it into my teenage hands, “Take this back, East, boy. Then they’ll say yer man enough.” She was always funny, but I was half sure she was a bit demented by that point. I was grateful all the same.

Placing the gun on the floor I contemplated the coming day and tried to guage my odds of needing to fire the darn thing.

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