Gulfport

by Anthony Kane Evans

About the Author: Anthony Kane Evans has had around sixty-five short stories published in various UK, French, US, Canadian, African, and Australian literary journals, e-zines, and anthologies. Journals include London Magazine (UK), Orbis Quarterly International Literary Journal (UK), The Tusculum Review (US), and The Antigonish Review (Canada). Though raised in England, he now lives in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Excerpt

It felt unfamiliar in my hand. The grip. Kind of slippery. I put the gun down and wiped the palms of my hands on my corduroy pants. The rhythm of the palms, who'd written that? But that was trees, not hands.

Concentrate. Well, I didn't have to kill him. Wouldn't it be better if I simply put six bullets into his legs instead? Say, three in each knee-cap. Wouldn't it be great to greet him in the street? Me upright, him in a wheelchair. Of course, that'd mean wearing a mask during the gunning. Why was it all so complicated? Getting hold of the gun had been difficult enough. Now I’d need what, a ski-mask? No, that simply wouldn't do.

I picked up the gun again. It still felt unfamiliar, but it was no longer slippery. The grip was good enough.

"Got you, you bastard!" I said.

I listened. She hadn't heard. I came out of the bathroom, carefully shielding the gun (as I'd shielded my regrets), put on my leather jacket. Took it off, tried my winter coat. Put the gun in the outer right pocket. That felt better. I could even shoot through the coat. But would that be a good idea? Wouldn't my coat then become evidence. I could see it before me. The courtroom. Exhibit 1: The punk who'd sold me the gun. Exhibit 2: The ski-mask. Exhibit 3: My coat.

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