From the Corner of His Eye

most likely carried one anyway, because in his crazy-as-a-snake mind, he was never a private citizen, always a cop, always the relentless crusader.
        A quick tug on each pants cuff revealed no ankle holster, which was how many cops would choose to carry an off-duty piece.
        Averting his eyes from Vanadium's face, Junior moved farther up the stocky body. He folded back the tweed sports jacket to reveal a shoulder holster.
        Junior didn't know much about guns. He didn't approve of them; he had never owned one.
        This was a revolver. No safeties to figure out.
        He fiddled with the cylinder until it swung open. Five chambers, a gleaming cartridge in each.
        Snapping the cylinder into place, he rose to his feet. Already he had a new plan, and the cop's revolver was the most important tool that he required to implement it.
        Junior was pleasantly surprised by his flexibility and by his audacity. He was, indeed, a new man, a daring adventurer, and by the day he grew more formidable.
        The purpose of life was self-fulfillment, per Zedd, and Junior was so rapidly realizing his extraordinary potential that surely he would have pleased his guru.
        Sliding Victoria's chair away from the table, he turned her to face him. He adjusted her body so that her head was tipped back and her arms were hanging slack at her sides.
        Beautiful she was, both of face and form, even with her mouth gaping wide and her eyes rolled back in her skull. How bright her future might have been if she had not chosen to deceive. A tease was, in essence, a deceiver-promising what she never intended to deliver.
        Such behavior as hers was unlikely to lead to self-discovery, self improvement, and fulfillment. We make our own misery in this life. For better or worse, we create our own futures.
        "I'm sorry about this," Junior said.
        Then he closed his eyes, held the revolver in both hands, and at point-blank range, he shot the dead woman twice.
        The recoil was worse than he expected. The revolver bucked in his hands.
        Off the hard surfaces of cabinets, refrigerator, and ovens, the twin reports crashed and rattled. The windowpanes briefly thrummed.
        Junior wasn't concerned that the shots would attract unwanted attention. These large rural properties and a plenitude of muffling trees made it unlikely that the nearest neighbor would hear anything.
        With the second shot, the dead woman tumbled out of her chair, and the chair clattered onto its side.
        Junior opened his eyes and saw that only the second of the two rounds had found its intended mark. The first had cracked through the center of a cabinet door, surely shattering dishes within.
        Victoria lay faceup on the floor. The nurse was no longer as lovely as she had been, and perhaps because of early rigor mortis, her grace, which had initially been evident even in death, had now deserted her.
        "I really am sorry about this," Junior said, regretting the necessity to deny her the right to look good at her own funeral, "but it's got to appear to be a crime of passion."
        Standing over the body, he squeezed off the last three shots. Finished, he detested guns more than ever.
        The air stank of gunfire and pot roast.
        With a paper towel, Junior wiped the revolver. He dropped it on the floor beside the riddled nurse.
        He didn't bother to press Vanadium's hand around the weapon. There wasn't going to be a wealth of evidence for the Scientific Investigation Division to sift through, anyway, when the fire was finally put out: just enough charred clues to allow them an easy conclusion.
        Two murders and an act of arson. Junior was being a bold boy this evening.
        Not a bad boy. He didn't believe in good and bad, in right and wrong.
        There were effective actions and ineffective actions, socially acceptable and unacceptable behavior, wise and stupid decisions that could be made. But if you wanted to achieve maximum self-realization, you had to understand that any choice you made in life was entirely value neutral. Morality was a primitive concept, useful in earlier stages of societal evolution, perhaps, but without relevance in the modem age.
        Some acts were distasteful, too, such as searching the lunatic lawman for his car keys and his badge.
        Continuing to avert his eyes from the battered face and the two