I have to close my eyes for a second when my boots break the silence of the room. I have to close my eyes for a second, just for a second, because I don’t want to see my friend dead and, at the same time, I know that I have to. And I must be prepared.

A vortex inside my mind. Images and sounds and memories overlapping and piling up like ants. Voices and frame stills and mental pictures of a recent past that will never be a present, or a future.

“Mister Marshall DeNardo?”
“At your disposal. Please, take a seat and tell me what I can do for you”.

I press my hand on my mouth, trying to repress the urge to throw up my breakfast. Marshall is being dead for days. A week, at least.

“Hey there Marshall”.
“Hey there Dante. Are you okay?”.
“Yeah…”.
“Did you take it?”.
“Yeah…”.
“I am glad you made it. Last time Shane called, was pissed off like nobody’s business because I told her that Sanders was yet to be found…. Give it to me….”.
“This is a really fucked up situation… Come on, we don’t have so much time”.
“Alright”.
“Tamper it and make it harmless, I’m not too familiar with Glocks”.
“I know, Jesus Christ, chill out man!”.
“I can’t chill out. I have less than 45 minutes to put it back at its place. If Shane goes back to her car and doesn’t find it, we’re screwed”.
“Son… of… a… bitch…”.
“What?”.
“Somebody already messed around with this gun…”.
“That Thompson guy gave Shane a gun that could explode in her face?”.
“Yeah”.
“Fuck me…”.
“No, fuck him, that little bastard. We’re gonna send him down when this matter will be over”.”

His face is blue. His body swollen with organic gases. He stinks. He’s dead. He’s been assassinated. And tortured. A pure pre-mortem and peri-mortem violence.

“Do you want a gun?” Marshall asked me, in a low voice. “I got another one in the dashboard”.
His light blue eyes shone in the darkness.
I bit my lower lip, unsure.
Then I said.
“Okay”.
He put a 7.65 Beretta in my hand.
“Italian gun for the Italian guy”.
“Shut up…”, I smiled, putting the weapon in my belt.

I sob without even noticing it, a suffocated sob as I narrow my eyes, trying to focus, kneeling down right beside him, pushing my hand firmly on my mouth, trying hard not to breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe Dante. My eyes fill up with tears that I am not going to cry anyway. Not now.