Powder Burn Flash # 195 - James M. McGowan

Blue Irish Eyes
by James M McGowan

He caught me by surprise in the living room.

I just sauntered in and he was there sitting in the shadows.

I wasn’t expecting company.

Drop it fuck face.

I had acne scars but I thought they weren’t that bad.

I pulled a Glock from my jacket and held it aloft so he could see it in the fading light.
Did I say this was a free style gun posing contest?

At least he was funny.

I dropped it on the hard parquet flooring.

Kick it over here.

I did.

Sit down.

I sat at the table and looked over at him.

The black open eyes of two revolver barrels were pointing at my acne.

I was going to ask was it OK to blink before he said.

Don't even fuckin' blink.

I had the same eye problems as James Joyce (no relation) but it could be worse.

Especially if he fired into my blue Irish eyes.

People say you're so smart but you're not.

What people?

People people.

Maybe.

Maybe nothing! I’m the one with two guns in your stupid Irish face.

Maybe you are not as smart as you heard I was. Word play – I was good at it.

Why?

I fired the sawn-off taped under the table.

That’s why.

Gun play – I was good at it.

A gun under the table is worth two in the hand if you ask me.

Both of his knees were blown off.

He slumped over the table.

He still had the two guns in his hands although his knee caps were on the other side of the room. He was moaning and turning green white.

Drool came out of his mouth. He didn't look too hot. He looked splotchy and dodgy and fucked all over.

You don't look too hot.

He was clutching the guns but it was involuntary spasms – he couldn't move, he couldn't even look up at me.

I bent down close to his face so he could see me.

I said you should always check under the table - you will know the next time.

I pulled the guns out of his cold clammy hands.

I pushed him and he fell to the floor pulling the tablecloth with him.

If he looked up he could see the sawn-off taped there, thin wisps of smoke still filtering out of the barrels.

I pressed the two guns into his nipples and fired.

I pressed them into his stomach and fired.

I pressed them into his groin and fired.

I pressed them into his thighs and fired.

I pressed them into his knees and fired even though they were across the room.

I pressed them into his eyes and fired.

I pressed them into his temples and fired.

What a mess.

Plus there would be no next time.

BIO: James M McGowan (james.m.mcgowan@gmail.com) is a crime writer from Ireland featured previously in Plots with Guns, Noir Originals, Hardluck Stories and ThugLit.