Waist Deep

43

I stopped at my apartment and went inside.It smelled stuffy, so I threw open the window and let the cold February air flood in.

The bottle of whisky stood on the counter, still one-third full.I reached for it, and for one wavering moment, I almost poured three fingers into last night’s glass. Hair of the dog.

Instead, I unscrewed the cap and poured the brown poison down the drain. I threw the bottle into the garbage pail.Then I closed the window.

From under my bed, I drew out the most expensive thing I owned. It was the last holdover from when I was on the job.A Smith and Wesson.45 caliber Model 457 with a barrel just shy of four inches long for easier concealment.Seven rounds plus one in the pipe.

I slipped the gun out of the soft leather holster and pulled the slide partway open.There was a gleam of gold in the chamber.I let the slide snap forward.Then I clipped the holster to my belt, covered it with my windbreaker and left the apartment.