Mark (Five of Five)

Ain't never a standard case. We learned that the hard way. Had to track down some sleaze named Peters, ducked out on his family and stuck them with a bunch of gambling debts. Mob was starting to squeeze them, they were starting to get desperate. Cause he spent all their money, they didn't have much choice except to come to us.

Why didn't he leave town? Probably cause he didn't want to go on the run. People don't know how hard it is, leaving behind your loved ones. They think they could just up and leave if they won the lottery tomorrow, and they could. Problem is, that money won't give a damn when you come home at night, ain't gonna listen to you complain, and you can only get so intimate with paper. It's just money. You can make more money. You can't make more family. Well, kids, yeah, but they don't replace what family you got.

We looked like gumshoes, trench coats flapping, guns in hand, hats held down with other hand. Raining hard, like a bunch of wet needles. We trailed him to his motel, cornered him. Mark knocked on the door, told him to come out peacefully. That was when I saw the door explode into him, blowing him backwards. Shotgun blast, near point blank. I can't forget his screams, like a wounded dog. He kept twitching.

I didn't hear movement inside. That didn't mean he just up and disappeared. He knew I was still outside. We had ourselves a fine standoff. We talked for a few minutes, real casual, calm voices, like we were old friends seeing each other after ten years apart. I threw down my piece in the doorway. He came out, the shaking barrels trained on me, snot bubbling from his nose. You push people, you find out just what they're capable of. He wasn't a real criminal until he killed someone, that Peters. Now he rated the newspaper.

He backed all the way to the parking lot, got in and drove. I couldn't care less, I went over to Mark. He looked like raw hamburger, sounded like a slowly deflating balloon. Couldn't do a damned thing except hold him for the next few minutes, talk to him while whatever made him special leaked out of him. Once it was all gone, he stopped panting. I had to close his eyes. They felt like grapes. I haven't eaten a grape since.

I took his gun before the paramedics took him away. Popped the clip, took out a bullet, all bronze-like and innocent. Never been fired. I kissed it, slipped it in my pocket. Still got it, it's around my neck now. That's where I came up with the name, Kissing Bullets. It was my last good memory of Mark. Dara, you wanted me to name this thing? I'll one up you.

Mark, this is yours more than anyone's.