“Don’t come in here, Dooley,”

“I’m not coming in there, man.  There is no way I would get shot for that asshole.  But I want you to think about that for a minute.”  His voice was measured, calming as he spoke slowly from around the corner.  “I want you to think about the fact that you thought I might risk getting shot for that little loser in there.  That is totally ridiculous and it should be evidence to you that you are not thinking clearly.”

“You’re right,” Lorka agreed, hesitating and lowering his guard a bit.  But he brought it right back up when Vornot’s voice came from the other side of the door, taking advantage of what he thought was his chance to come out of the situation sounding tough.

“Yeah, this is stupid.  You know you fucked up, asshole.  That’s why I ran in here, to keep you from making a mistake you’ll regret –” he stopped talking instantly and dropped to the floor when Lorka, enraged by his audacity, coldly put a bullet through the door, narrowly missing him.  The next bullet shattered the door handle, and Lorka kicked open the door to find Vornot huddled whimpering on the floor.

“Aw, hell!” cried Lanada from the hall, avoiding the line of fire.  He tried to slow Lorka down by reminding him of something non-violent and familiar.  “You know my whole comic book collection is in there.  Do you reallly want to get blood on it?  You used to borrow those when we were kids.  Remember, man.  Please!”

Lorka looked hatefully down at the pathetically sniveling hood lying on the floor, and then at the bullet hole in the opposite wall.  It was too much.  It was too insane.  He had been out of jail for two days and already he was on his way back.  He slowly lowered the gun a nd walked back down the hallway.  He tried to hand the gun to Lanada but the other man backed away, shaking his head and holding up his hands defensively.

“No way, Lorka, I don’t want to have anything to do with this.”