He left his prostetic arm on the table and went out the back door.
A chill wind was blowing as he pulled the scarf round his neck and settled into the Passat.
Charlie was barking outside the car.
"Shut up you stupid dog"
He backed down the drive way with Charlie chasing, backed into the street and with a squeel of the tires left the dog behind. He sped up the hill past Jeanette's house and turned right on Elm. He stopped at the seven eleven and bought a newspaper, a pack of Marlboro lights, a bottle of Jim Beam and a can of ginger ale.
He drove the grey Passat to the ball park, parked behind the poplar trees, and sat smoking and drinking.
The newspaper sat untouched. At 5:25 p.m. Mr. Winterston appeared around the corner headed for his '83 Chevrolet El Camino.
Charlie pulled the gun from his coat pocket and draped the newspaper over his arm, hiding the gun.
He traversed the park and met Mr. Winterston at the concession stand. He loved the cherry snow cones.
"Why George, what are you doing here?"
The report echoed against the gym.
"Fuck you."
Mr. Winterston wasn't dead.
"George.."
The blood was spreading quickly. Mr Winterston's leg was twitching violently.
George dropped the gun in the snow and walked back to the car.