The Collection (2017, Jerry eBooks) by Fredric Brown

Author:Fredric Brown [Brown, Fredric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jerry eBooks
Published: 2017-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

HE TOOK another drink and looked up.

Halloran was gone. Nick was leaning against the back bar, staring at nothing. Maybe Nick was worried; maybe Nick was afraid to die. Maybe he should say something to make Nick feel better. Nick wasn’t a bad guy, except that he was crabby sometimes when there were no customers around.

Johnny said, “It’s all right, Nick. We probably won’t even feel it when it happens.”

Nick swore at him.

So Nick was in that mood. Too bad; might be a good time to talk to somebody. But not Nick. Not if Nick felt like that.

Maybe he should go out. Out on the bridge a few blocks away, where he liked to walk once in a while, to watch the dancing reflections of the lights on the black water.

Sure, and why shouldn’t he have a bottle of good whisky—just for this once and last time-to take with him. Why not celebrate? Why not—except for the mood Nick was in—borrow that big automatic Nick kept in the cash drawer under the bar, and-about one o’clock, say-fire it into the sky and yell. Like New Year’s—or better.

Hell, the end of the world came only once. A guy ought to do something.

He said, “Nick—”

Nick was coming past the end of the bar, heading for the door that led to the rooms back of the tavern. Nick said, “Back in a few meenutes, Johnny. Call me eef someone come in.”

The door closed behind him.

Johnny Gin sat there maybe a minute before it came to him that this was his chance to do what he wanted. Nick was crabby; Nick would never give him a bottle of the good stuff, nor let him borrow the gun. But what did either of those things matter to Nick, when you thought about it? He’d never sell the good whisky, nor need the gun, would he?

A bit fearfully, Johnny stood up and tiptoed around behind the bar. He left the pint Brentwood bottle, still more than half full, back on the table in the corner. He looked over the bottles on the back bar.

A cognac bottle took his eye. A fifth, two-thirds full. That would be plenty. And cognac he had drunk once, somewhere. Paris, that was it. Paris on leave and he’d been in a uniform and his arm had been in a sling and he’d had to drink left-handed. He grinned at the partial recollection. He bent close to peer at the label. Three-Star Hennessey. He took the bottle gently and reverently, and then turned to the drawer and pulled it open. There was a lot of money there, but money wasn’t worth anything now. Nick kept just small change in the register. This was where he kept the big bills for cashing pay-checks.

Johnny Gin reached across the money and picked up the gun. It was big, and heavy in his hand. A forty-five automatic. But it felt familiar. He’d had one of these once, and known how to use it. That had been in France, too.

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