He pocketed the gun

it was still warm 

Fatty lay on his side the blood pouring out 

of three holes

"Fucking asshole, I told him to knock it off. It's on him!"

He pulled his overcoat on and wiped down the glass he'd been drinking from. 

He opened the door with a piece of paper and walked out into the hall and down the stairs and out onto the street. 

It was cold he buttoned up his overcoat and didn't look back.

Tomorrow was Friday.