LURKER'S FIRST BULLET

     He can feel his heart thumping like an 808 bass. A heartbeat’s not something you think about unless it’s working overtime, against something detrimental to your body. In this case, it’s a gunshot wound.

     He makes it to the fire escape of his apartment building as the blood drips off his shoulder. The key to the window lock is somewhere in his belt, but in the state he’s in, he gives up and lies down on the landing.

     "Fuck this," he thinks, fumbling in each compartment of his oversized belt. "I’m just gonna’ die here, I guess. Mr. Dino will find me while sneaking in to look for a rent check. He’ll walk in, see me dead on the fire escape in this fucking get-up. It’ll be in all the papers, too. ‘Lurker Found Dead.’ Whole article will be about how I lived like a bum. One of the most respected crimefighters in this city lived in a shitty, rent-controlled, three story walk-up. They’ll find all my foot fetish porn, so that’ll make the article for sure. Jeez. All these years I’ve gotten shot at, but never actually shot. I’m too old. That’s it. Too old, too slow. How foolish am I gonna’ look, dead on this fire escape? I just don’t care. It was a good ride, I guess. Aw, fuck it."

     The Lurker closes his eyes. In a few hours, when the sun comes up, he’ll wake up and wish he was dead, but he won’t be. He’ll slink over to the only man who knows his secret identity. Doc Childers will easily nurse his wound and demand to be paid in booze.

     They’ll laugh over a couple of Scotches at D.T.’s and Doc will once again remind The Lurkerr of how big a pussy he is.




-SLL