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He ran bent at the waist, like a scared dog, guilty as hell
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  the king of torts | Автор: admin | 19-08-2010, 08:56
He ran bent at the waist, like a scared dog, guilty as hell. He wore red?and?yellow basketball shoes that seemed five sizes too big and slapped the pavement as he made his getaway.


When he ran by them he was still holding the gun, probably a.38, and he flinched just for an instant when he saw them and realized they had seen too much. For one terrifying second, he seemed to raise the gun as if to eliminate the witnesses, both of whom managed to flip backward from their plastic milk crates and scramble off in a mad flurry of arms and legs. Then he was gone.


One of them opened the door to the liquor store and yelled for someone to call the police, there had been a shooting.


Thirty minutes later, the police received a call that a young man matching the description of the one who had wasted Pumpkin had been seen twice on Ninth Street carrying a gun in open view and acting stranger than most of the people on Ninth. He had tried to lure at least one person into an abandoned lot, but the intended victim had escaped and reported the incident.


The police found their man an hour later. His name was Tequila Watson, black male, age twenty, with the usual drug?related police record. No family to speak of. No address. The last place he’d been sleeping was a rehab unit on W Street. He’d managed to ditch the gun somewhere, and if he’d robbed Pumpkin then he’d also thrown away the cash or drugs or whatever the booty was. His pockets were clean, as were his eyes.

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