Dr Jew

so long that it was impossible to cut the man off or keep him away. He was an addict, the worst kind: a gambler who could keep up with his habit and not let it suck him under. Dave never hit the jackpot, but he came close enough a few times to make them recalculate the odds based on his bets and relocate funds sufficiently. Clients like Dave – by their very aroma – made Jimmy want to get out of this business and into something more respectable (UTCCSA), rejuvenating.
    "Yes?" said Jimmy , still watching Dave through the peephole.
    "Let me in," said Dave. "Got a bet for you."
    "Since when you come around to place bets? You can call 'em in. You're good with us."
    "Wanted to do this one in person. Special bet."
    Special bet. What did that mean? (SATCUC) And why did Dave always have to come when the other guys were out?
    "Come back in an hour," said Jimmy.
    "Can't. Let me in. Just gotta drop a bet."
    " Just call Lacie, she can handle –"
    "Open the damned door," said Dave.
    (CASTCU )
    "Just tell it to me – "
    "Open the door. It's too big a bet. I don't want you guys telling me later I didn't stake it 'cause I only made a call. Open the door."
    "How much?"
    "Big."
    (SCUCTA ) Big. What did that mean? Dave had once staked a $20,000 bet on the third game in the World Series and been good to cover it when he lost. But he covered most of it with what they owed him on another game. God, crap like this made him – (AUCSTC), faaak – want to get out of this game.
    Fuck it. Take Dave's money and get him out of here.
    Jimmy unbolted the door and opened it. Dave stood there and gave him an indignant look.
    "What kind of business you running here? " said Dave. "You don't want my money?"
    "Shut the door, damn it, you think I need it broadcast to the neighbors?"
    Dave left the door open and Jimmy reached to slam it (ACTSCU). Dave reached in his jacket and revealed a pistol that he pointed at the man's head.
    "Get 'em up," said Dave.
    "Y ou're out of your fucking mind," said Jimmy.
    "Put 'em up or I spill your brains. Up!"
    The man showed his palms and kept them up near his face.
    "Alright, boys, get in here."
    Swan and Vinny came in from the hall and Vinny shut the door.
    Jimmy sneered at them. "You bring that ape and some midget –"
    Dave hit Jimmy in the mouth and blood showed on his lip.
    "Talk when I talk to you," said Dave.
    "You'll be dead in an hour," said Jimmy. "All three of you."
    "Why not kill him now?" said Vinny. "You got a silencer on that."
    "You thin k I don't know that? Here, hold this. You and Swan keep an eye on him while I look around. And you pull that trigger anything less than something real stupid on his part and you'll be next."
    Dave went to the kitchen and looked through the cabinets, drawers. "Where the fuck is it?"
    "You talking to me?" said Jimmy.
    "You think you're some kind of comedian?" said Vinny.
    "A midget with a gun," said Jimmy. He laughed perversely.
    "T his midget with a gun's gonna be the last thing you ever see," said Vinny.
    Dave returned. "Well? Where is it?"
    "What could you be talking about?" said Jimmy.
    "You know what I'm after. The stash."
    "We don 't keep more than $20 in the cash register, boss. You get out of here now I might give you a few days to clear. But you keep this up and your life's gonna be a world of shit."
    "Give me that," said Dave, taking the gun from Vinny. "Last time. Where is it?"
    Jimmy frowned like sniffing a brutal fart.
    Dave gave the gun to Swan and said, "Boy, kill him."
    Vinny sniggered.
    "Kill him?" said Swan.
    "Do it, Swan ," said Dave.
    "But… why, Uncle Dave?"
    "He's getting rude. I can't stand bad manners."
    Swan stood motionless with the gun limp in his hand, the other men and their glances penetrating him with the light bulbs to see where his next breath would take him. Vinny's face was a curious and sickly grin of amusement. Dave was stern. Jimmy and his shark teeth… a stranger to Swan except for a glass of pink lemonade… Jimmy was wet with perspiration, strong like a stupid dog, but he also knew this boy might kill him at any moment. Jimmy's skin was wrapped tight around his skull and his mouth was dry. Swan didn't hate him.
    "I can 't kill him, Uncle Dave. It's not right."
    "Thanks, kid," said Jimmy.
    "That's not enough to save you," said Dave to Jimmy. Dave took the gun from Swan's drowsy grip, aimed, and the gun went off. A bullet thwirped and broke the skin on Jimmy's forehead and went through the skull and into Jimmy's brain carving