He shot her in the gut. Twice. Then he dropped the gun beside her on the bed and walked out. Tossing the gloves in the trash can on the corner, he crossed the street and into the Blue Basement Bar. There was no one around except the bartender who poured him a shot of rye and left him alone. Alone to think about her and what started six months ago. And about his bad luck with women. Bad, bad luck.
Titanium Turtle Jaw
Comet Ping Pong
Two Shots to the Gut
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