Clayton Befurcacio took the pistol out of the drawer. It was wrapped in an old cloth. He oiled the chamber, wiped it clean and ran the brush down the barrel. Loaded, it felt good. Heavy. He put the gun in the pocket of his coat and went out.
As he came around the corner he saw old Mrs. Lefkowitz. She had always been a nice woman. Kind and happy. He said hello to her and then turned and shot her dead. She fell on to the sidewalk and her blood spread across the concrete and into the gutter.
Clayton ran down the street and turned down the alley, got into his car and headed for the beach. He liked living in a beach community and the weather was beautiful for late December.