The bar's patrons fanned out. The
moon
shone. It was brighter out here than it was in the bar when the power was out. The power was still out. But out here you could see. See well enough that is. There was a man. In a cowboy hat. In the parking lot. And there was smoke. Two sources of it. One from his mouth where he must've been smoking a fat
cigar
. And another from his rifle.
Jimmy heard Frank run towards the man. Screams of "you son of a bitch!"
The man in the cowboy hat turned around and pointed the gun at Frank.
"I mean what do you expect?"
Frank said nothing.
"I do have a gun. You expect me not to use it?"
Jimmy didn't know if the man was referring to the beast... or whether he was threatening to shoot one of them. None of the bar patrons moved. Besides Frank... Jimmy was the closest to the man.
Without pointing the gun down, he took a step towards them. The moon shone right into his face. He was thin. Very thin. Much older than his figure, the shadow, made him out to be. His
cheekbones
were sharp. They reminded Jimmy of knives.
"I've got seven rounds in here." the man pointed a cheek down at the rifle. "That means even if I get them all off. There'll be two of you still standing."
Jimmy felt sweat under his palms. Why hadn't he brought his gun?
"Those two will wish they got shot." the man snickered. The previously motivated bar crowd now looked at each other. Wondering what should do? Was this stranger really going to shoot them?
dealingwith
