“You know,” the mustached man said, tugging thoughtfully with hand that wasn’t holding the gun, “you remind me of a character in a book I read.”
“Yes,” he continued. “The hero in The Dogged Pursuit, he was like you. He never knew when to quit. Unlike, him though, you won’t leave here alive.”
“What makes you say that?” the other man said, pushing up his glasses with his free hand.
“Where shall I begin?” The man said, inhaling, glancing upward
And fell, a bullet from the clean-shaven man’s gun in his chest.
“I hate when people compare me to literature.”