Ten
It took a minute before it really registered. It just didn’t sound right. Jerry Dell was a professional gunman, and some corn-fed barkeeper had killed him. I took another look at the picture. It was the same. He was still a little fat guy gazing shyly at his wife.
I folded the paper and put it on the bar as Eddie came back. “An interesting story,” I said.
“It shows how dangerous it is to run a bar,” he said with a smile. “I’m even surprised that Blake had a g*n or could use it. He always struck me as a weak sister.”
“Well, it doesn’t take much strength to pull a trigger,” I said. “What do you think’ll happen to him?”
“He’ll get off. The guy he killed was a known gangster and pulled a g*n and shot at him. They’ll keep the restaurant and bar closed for a few days until it’s settled.
