14.
Quietly I set the beer can down on my writing table beside my laptop, and then pull the .45 from my jacket pocket.
“Lu,” I say aloud, knowing that it’s possible the pit bull could be responsible for the noise, but knowing in my gut that she’s isn’t. After all, Lu’s favorite pass time aside from eating is sleeping.
I hear the noise again. It’s a short, sharp slap. Like wood against wood, followed by the sound of my mattress creaking, like someone just sat him or herself down on my bed.
Sliding back the c*****g mechanism on the .45 so slowly I feel the bullet entering the chamber more than I hear it, I take it lightly over the wood floor to the apartment’s compact bedroom. The door is closed, but not entirely. Hiding my body behind the wood door, I try to capture a glimpse into the r
