The Burning Day Read Online Free PDF Page A

vacant smile all the time.
    One of them stood by the door, like he was guarding it, while the other came over to the counter, close to where Mad Dog was standing. He looked smug and mean. He reminded Mad Dog of the people that used to make fun of him.
    “I come here for Don Ganato,” the man announced to the shopkeeper, like Mad Dog wasn’t standing there, like he didn’t even exist. That struck Mad Dog as quite rude. He stood there quietly, still smiling his strange smile. His fingertips were an inch from the handle of the .357 that rode in a shoulder holster beneath his left armpit. If the guy had looked at him closer, maybe he would even have noticed it.
    “It’s time for you to cough up the money you owe us,” the guy said to Mr. Merle. Without waiting for a response, the man reached over the counter and opened the cash register. He pulled a canvas bag from beneath his long coat, and started stuffing money into it—the money Mad Dog had been sent to collect.
    Mad Dog cleared his throat. Loudly. The man at the counter turned and glanced at Mad Dog, then did a double-take. He seemed amazed that someone he was ignoring was actually trying to get his attention.
    “You got something to say, buddy?”  
    “Well,” Mad dog began shyly, “I was in line here first.”
    The other man started laughing. He turned and looked toward the guy at the door. “Did you hear that?” he asked the other man. “He says he was here first. You think maybe we should wait in line?” He threw back his head and laughed some more.  
    The man at the door started laughing, too, but suddenly there was a loud explosion, and a bullet hole appeared between his eyes. He stopped laughing and slumped to the floor.
    The man at the cash register dropped the canvas bag, spilling money all over the floor. He frantically tried to reach into his fancy trench coat for a gun, but it was too late. Mad Dog methodically shot the man in one elbow, and then the other one, just to be on the safe side.  
    “You’re very rude,” Mad Dog said quietly. Then he bent over and picked up the frightened, whimpering puppy.
    “There, there, boy, don’t worry,” he said in a gentle voice. “Everything’s going to be all right.” Mad Dog laid his .357 on the counter. On the floor, the wounded man dragged himself miserably away on his forearms, trying to reach the door. He left two red trails behind him, swooping red commas that curved first one way, then the next. It was hard going, Mad Dog could tell, because the man’s arms were pretty useless with both elbows blown away. Must hurt like hell.
    Mad Dog scooped up the money with his empty hand and refilled the bag. He transferred the bag to the crook of his left arm, so that he held both puppy and money in the crook of that arm. With his right hand he casually picked up his gun like he was in no hurry, like he had nothing but time.
    The man who had been rude to him had crawled half-way to the door. He was dragging himself, stopping every few feet, gasping loudly. He was all out of wise remarks now. Mad Dog walked over to him, put his gun up against the fallen man’s head, and finished him off.  
    As Mad Dog stuffed the pistol back into his shoulder holster, he snapped his fingers in sudden realization. “Shoot. I almost forgot.” He walked back to the counter, where the old man cringed in horror and fear.
    “The papers. You know, for the puppy?” The old man looked amazed and confused for a minute, then he reached into a little slot under the cash register and produced a document, which he offered, in a trembling hand, to Mad Dog. Still smiling his strange smile, Mad Dog nodded pleasantly and stuffed the paper into a pocket. He pointed at the sack that held the shop owner’s money.
    “I understand why you’ve been late on your payments, now, with those guys always stealing from you. I’ll let Longshot Lonnie know. We’ll let it slide, this time. You can’t be late again, though.”
    “Okay, okay,