Galway Confidential

The man looked down at the woman. His third fist to her head had knocked her unconscious; he briefly considered killing her but moved back, whispered,

“Not yet.”

He gathered up his kit,

       Rope,

       Duct tape,

       Handcuffs,

       Knife,

       And a recent addition to his trade,

            A mountaineering hammer

            that

            doubled as an axe.

He hefted it in his hand, thought,

“I could take her head.”

Stood back and laughed out loud, said,

“Just kidding, these are the jokes.”

He reached in his backpack, took out a pack of Marlboro Red, the soft pack you rarely saw anymore, shook one out like they do in the movies, lit it with a heavy Zippo that had the logo:

              “C

              Is

              For

              Cun...”

Tickled him each time.

He let the ash grow on the tip then, with a definite gesture, flicked it on the supine woman, said,

“Ashes to ashes.”

Gathered up his gear, took one last look around, then let himself out through the ground-floor window.

The nun on the ground groaned quietly but remained unconscious.