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FIFTY-SEVEN

DAVID BOWERS LEAVES THROUGH the rear exit, as always, his coat on, scarf wrapped around his neck, watch cap on as well. He closes the rear door but, instead of leaving, lets out a long breath and rests his head against the door. A tough night for him, apparently. It’s about to get tougher.

Tommy Malone appears from the shadows, his gun drawn. “Don’t move, David,” he says. “Don’t move.”

David jumps at the sight of Tommy, whose face is concealed by a black balaclava — covering him from the neck up, including his hair, leaving only holes for his eyes and mouth. David’s eyes move to the gun, an HK45 with a long suppressor.

“Don’t move,” Tommy repeats. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

David manages to get his hands in the air, his breathing heavy, exhaling puffs into the frozen air outside.

“Michael Cagnina says hi, David.”

David shakes his head. He’s not going to give it up easily. “Who?”

“Michael Cagnina. He’s hoping to get back in touch with —”

“I don’t know that name.”

“Speaking of names,” says Tommy, “can we stop pretending yours is David? How ’bout I just call you —”

“My name is David. David Bowers.”

Damn, if Tommy didn’t know better, he might buy this act. David’s had a lot of practice playing pretend.

“What — what do you want?” says David. “You’re here to rob me?”

“You know why I’m here, pal.” Tommy takes another step forward. “I’ll shoot you if I have to, but I don’t wanna.”

“Look, you can have my wallet. I have money inside the restaurant. I can open it up. You can have whatever you want. I’ll open it up.”

He reaches into his pocket for his keys.

“No,” says Tommy. “Calm the fuck —”

David tosses a ring of keys to Tommy.

And then, as Tommy’s attention is momentarily diverted, David makes his move.

The problem with a suppressor on a gun — it keeps a gunshot nice and quiet, but it doubles the length of the firearm. David pushes down the suppressor with his left hand as he lunges at Tommy. Tommy moves backward instinctively, but not before David manages to connect the crown of his head against Tommy’s mouth, a partially successful head butt.

The gun goes off with a thwip!

David lets out a grunt as he falls into Tommy. Tommy manages to keep his balance as he steps back, David collapsing to the ground at his feet.

And a pool of blood forming beneath David.

“Look what you — look what you fucking made me do!” he cries.

Then he turns and runs from the parking lot.