By Nigel G. Wilson
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Extra resources for Aristophanea
Sample text
Not heartburn. Too painful. So painful he could hardly move. It even hurt when he absently lifted his hand to massage the lump of pain in his chest. He felt wetness. Looked down. His hand was red. So was his tie and the front of his bright white shirt he’d bought just yesterday on sale at Filene’s Basement. His fingers danced over his chest, probed. Huh? He’d been shot. Shot! Oh, Christ! Bob the farmer had shot him. That was all Marty could think of. He looked around. Bob and Ellie were nowhere to be seen.
Of the rifle. Bricker settled down on the peaches, his arm still extended, the fingers of his right hand straining forward. Repetto was aware of peaches forced over the edge of the stall, bouncing and rolling at his feet. Bricker’s head tilted to the side, as if he were trying to get more comfortable on his pillow of peaches, and the blood came. And came and came. Repetto backed away, unable to stop staring at Bricker, at the blood on the peaches, the blood now trickling from the stall onto the sidewalk.
Marty was recovering from his shock enough to be terrified. A doctor visiting from Toronto with a woman not his wife was walking past and saw what was happening. He hurried to help Marty but it was too late. Time had stopped for Marty. 2 A spring shower that was almost mist was falling the next evening when Assistant Chief Lou Melbourne wrestled his bulk out of a cab in front of Vincent Repetto’s residence on Bank Street in the Village. Repetto, who’d gone to a living room window to see if it was still raining, noticed Melbourne crossing the street.