Gussy Saint and the Case of the Missing Co-edBy C.D. Gallant-King
I watched the fist coming toward my face with a vague fascination, as one might observe a butterfly that has landed on his knee or a scientist examining some particularly thrilling bacteria in a Petri dish. I counted every wrinkle and groove on the rough skin of the hand, noticed a distinct scar across the second and third knuckles—the result of a previous fight or perhaps a can-opener accident. Behind the fist I saw the old clock on the wall “tick” off a single second. The clock was one of those big, round deals with the black arms that looked like it should be hanging in a doctor’s office. Actually, I knew for a fact that it once hung in a doctor’s office, because that’s where I’d stolen it.
My eyes on the time—quarter-p
