Shooting Star

Chuck watched the shooting star glide across the clear night sky. He imagined the sparkles from the comet’s tail as being monstrous fireflies of space. He made a wish.

The hour being late, he walked along this path alone. The only discernable sounds emitted from his footsteps and the occasional rustle of the fabric of his lightweight jacket. The bulk and weight of his Smith & Wesson .45 nested snug under his left armpit…comfortable.

An unknown neighborhood to him Chuck had taken this route for this evening’s walk at the recommendation of the new night-shift desk clerk at the motel where he lodged. A sleazy looking little bastard, Chuck had thought, but what the hell, he was the employee of a reputable hotel chain.

Earlier in that day Chuck finished an intense week of business so he strolled along now allowing his mind to wander randomly and clear away the stress. He looked forward to leaving early the next morning on his return trip home. Two hard days of driving, he thought, and he would be sleeping comfortable in his own bed.

Chuck glimpsed a flicker of movement in the thicket of small trees just ahead at the right side of the pathway. A deer? He wondered. Deer were plentiful in the area where he lived. He thought it likely they were plentiful here as well. Chuck slowed his pace---maybe he would have a sighting.

But, this is a big city, he thought, so he deftly slipped his right hand through the partially open zipper of his jacket and unsnapped the retainer strap that secured the big Colt in its holster. A feeling in his gut had prompted a warning.

A muffled cough, that’s what it sounded like. Damn, he thought, human, not animal. A long time avid hunter Chuck knew the differences between human sounds and animal sounds.

He stopped walking. He searched the small stand of trees with his gaze and listened intently. A shuffle of feet, a rustling of the brush, and then two men stepped into the path directly in front of him...close

Fuck, he thought, here we go!

Predictable as well, he thought somewhat amused. Both degenerates; covered with tattoos and body jewelry. A look at their eyes told the real story, though, glazed by drugs. That frightened him.

One man seemed familiar---immediately his mind’s-eye flashed a picture of the sleazy little night clerk at the motel. Maybe a brother, he thought. A planned assault?

The larger of the two men held a small pistol in one hand. Chuck quickly assessed the pistol as being of a small caliber. The man didn’t seem able to focus his aim though. Drug-high indeed.

The smaller man caressed with thumb and fingers a large knife held lightly in his grip. He and the knife worried Chuck more than the man with the pistol, even though either weapon could wound him fatally.

Chuck’s mind quickly calculated three options. He could turn and run…hope he was fast enough; stand quiet and let them have their way; or, draw the .45 and attempt to stop their potential assault.

He didn’t like any of the three options.

Chuck killed them instead.