Write me a Letter

the pearls, dear) plus a comfortable old pair of sneakers, so as soon as I’d strapped my shoulder holster on and assured myself that the gun was loaded and the safety on, there was nothing to do but wait.
    So I waited.
    And waited.
    Then I waited some more.
    All was quiet in the hotel, except for the occasional creak as I cautiously stretched a leg and as wood contracted in the cooling night air. All was quiet in Locke, too, except for the occasional pooch barking in the distance and once a car starting up. And once I heard a brief high-pitched snatch of a conversation in Chinese coming from the parking lot out back. Otherwise it was quiet as a giraffes’ tea party. Oh— my stomach made the occasional noise as well—probably those damn greasy spareribs. Good, though.
    Did I really expect some ancient storm trooper to come sneaking in, Luger blasting, as soon as the witching hour struck?
    Part of me did, part of me didn’t. The back of my neck did and the palms of my hands did. The logical part of my brain did not, it mocked the very idea. But who do you trust these days, amigos? Right. I hear ya talking.
    I waited some more. I sucked my way through a package of butterscotch I’d had the foresight to stock up with. There was a day I could have chewed my way through it. I had a sudden moment of panic and reached for my Police Positive. It was still there. Under my breath I intoned a litany from the past I’d forgotten I’d ever learned: action, barrel, chambers, cylinder, cylinder latch, ejector rod, firing pin, forcing cone, frame, front sight, grip-stock, hammer, hammer block—transfer bar. Muzzle, rear sight, spur, star, trigger, trigger guard, yoke. Amen. In the trade, they like you to call cartridges rounds; anything but bullets. You charge a magazine, too, you do not load it, landlubbers.
    More creaks. Florida is weird. There anyone can take a course that lasts a few hours and then if you answer a bunch of questions correctly and hand over your fifty bucks ($50.00) you can apply for a permit that allows you to carry a concealed weapon. Even I can’t carry a concealed weapon in California , crime-busting fool that I am. I was in Florida once and I went through a course at a place outside Miami called the Open Fence Range . Some of the questions in the exam were pretty tough, though, as I remember. See how you do with a few I can recall, and I am talking memory here, not make-believe. ”When unloading a revolver, keep your finger off the ______” (Fill in the blank.) ”The rounds should always _________ the gun.” ”Keep firearms out of the reach of ___________” If you have any trouble with the answers, ask any five-year-old kid.
    I never did use the permit after all, the lead I was on turned out to be a red herring, but I did run into a high school teacher from Missouri called Debbi, and oh my God I hadn’t thought about her for a donkey’s years. She ate banana sandwiches for breakfast.
    I thought about old Nazis.
    I conjectured about the difficulty of bringing some old Nazi to trial for atrocities he was alleged to have perpetrated almost fifty years ago—it is hard enough rounding up witnesses and evidence these days relating to crimes committed a year ago let alone a half-century. And that’s not even bringing up details like the statute of limitations.
    And who gains anyway by incarcerating some half-dead old geezer, no matter what he’s done. Yes, Victor, all this is fine, but what some of those old geezers did was so unspeakably evil they deserve to be pursued by some avenging nemesis for hundreds of years let alone a mere two score and ten. Longer, even. We all know Who said, ”Vengeance is mine,” but who said, ”Let justice be done though the world perish”? I happen to know, for once, who said something. It was Emperor Ferdinand the One. Whoever he was.
    More creaks. A snuffling sound from outside, coming from a dog or maybe a raccoon, that American nocturnal carnivore related to bears who is a specialist at opening unopenable garbage tins. I shifted my weight uncomfortably on the narrow toilet seat; no chance of falling asleep on it, which is why I was on it instead of the floor. I flexed my arm and leg muscles regularly just in case I needed them.
    The beam of light that swept over the bed was so tiny I didn’t realize what it was for a moment; it flickered like a firefly over the supposed sleeping form. Then there followed a muted coughing sound, twice, in rapid