Lenny spun the chamber on Janis again- with every whizzing roll another memory would claw and scrape at his brain, make him mash his teeth around the filter of his Camel. He rubbed his stubble and stared at Fred Williamson. He flickered across the screen, shotgunning bullets into everyone in the room. The blood sprawled like vines across the grainy walls and Fred was feeling righteous with every death.
Lenny knew what Fred felt like. He wanted to feel that.
A homeless guy sitting three roles down was giggling with every crack of Fred’s pistol. Every time a shot rang out heralding a bad guy’s violent demise, the guy would tilt his head back and cackle. His brittle set of teeth would chatter in sync with the barrage of gunfire. He smelled like a jar of piss. Lenny didn't like him. But there was a lot of people he didn't like.
Lenny took a deep breath and dropped his Camel to the dirty floor of the theater. He slid Janis in his coat pocket. He stood and crushed the sticky smoke under his foot. The homeless looked back as to say 'hey the movie ain't over.' But Lenny knew it was time to go. He had a long night ahead of him.
Because tonight...tonight a whole lot of goddam people were gonna die. Blood would run, corpses would compile, spent shells would rain.
Tonight, Lenny was gonna give Hell the need for a Please Wait to Be Seated sign...
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