Blake looked at the scorched foil and cardboard that used to be his cigarette pack. Then he looked at the .38 that had blasted the pack out of his hand.
"Mad fucker," he said. "That's why they call it a smoking gun." His hand didn't shake much, all things considered.
"Now, listen," I told him ...
===============================[Read the rest of "Part XII: Creative synergies" here and all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here. And remember: This is fiction. None of it has really happened.]© Peter Rozovsky 2009
Labels: Declan Burke, John McFetridge, The Baltimore Drive-by