A crack of thunder and a rain of broken glass ripped me away from my morning ritual of whiskey and coffee, hold the coffee. My brain slammed into reflex mode throwing me to the floor behind my desk as the all too familiar sound of sizzling lead invaded the space my head just occupied. A second shot shattered my wake up elixir, roaring a river of amber comfort onto the hardwood beside me.

Damn it….
I liked that mug….

Silence echoed an instant parody of the moment before, now deathly silent. Kicking up a fragment of what was once my office window with my boot heel, I angled towards the jagged teeth of the window pane in order to get a better perspective on my current situation. The red dot that shone back didn't belong to Habib down at the corner store, the guy who'd sell me a bottle of forgetfulness for a few bucks and a broken English hello. And as the mirror joined my coffee cup in the great shelf in the sky, I caught a glimpse of my would be assassin as he ducked through the roof top door of a neighboring building.

The problem with this business is, once you make a name for yourself, you've made a name for yourself. Every half cocked rookie with a bad tuxedo and a dime store piece wants to be the one to have etched that name on the cold slab of a headstone. Too bad for him I've seen my death, and since he's not a bottle of scotch and a loaded .45, I'm not worried.

They say luck favors the foolish, and I'm either damn foolish, or damn lucky. Figuring the rookie was already on the run, I stood up to get a better peek at my new decorator. A flash of stupidity from the ground gave me the split second I needed to get reacquainted with the patterns on my floor. It seems that Dapper Don in the rent-a-tux wasn't as green as I'd picked him. He brought back up.

I knew the second shooter by reputation and that alone helped slow the mosh pit my heart was slamming against my rib cage. I was hoping to distract the wise guy for a few seconds, and since I didn't have a crossword puzzle book to toss down to my new friend, I sent down the next best thing….

My desk ..

Without looking down to see if the cartoon mobster was still standing on the big red “X”, I grabbed my two best friends by their pearl grips and headed up to the roof to peacefully converse with the man who made me spill my breakfast. The fox was so sure that he had me holed up and quaking in my burrow, that he hadn't counted on the rabbit having teeth….

Or twin .45's…..

Grabbing what was left of his corpse, I made a wish and tossed it over the side of the building. It wasn't a copper penny, but I figured with all of the lead in it, it might be worth something, and since I was out a desk and a coffee cup, it couldn't hurt.

I was wrong. It did hurt….
But not me…

I was hit by the frantic moans of a man in pain, and oddly enough those pain filled moans were coming from a man who had been hit with an antique oak desk. Who says wishes don't come true?

His cries were hitting octaves that lust starved Tom cats would envy, but they fell upon deaf ears as quickly as he fell upon my wood chipper.

They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and that you can plan your afternoon by how your morning unfolded…

If any of this was true…..

It was going to be a beautiful day….

A solid Ace always beats a Full House……

 

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