Before She Kills by Fredric Brown

By Fredric Brown

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When they left, I sat down at the table in the living room to wait. Holding kept Barranya down there another half hour. He looked mad when he came in. By that time my tooth had stopped jumping up and down and settled into a slow steady ache that wasn't quite so bad. I waved my hand toward the Scotch on the table, and the extra glass I'd put there. ” “Thanks, Sergeant, I shall. ” “Don't mind me,” I told him. “Go right ahead and turn in. ” “But—” He looked puzzled. ” — 45 — He poured himself a drink from the bottle and refilled my glass.

His eyes were so narrowed you couldn't see the whites. I thought crazily that if the British had done that at Bunker Hill they wouldn't have got fired on at all. — 60 — All in all it wasn't a nice expression. I shuddered a bit, involuntarily. Whoever was stooging for Mac on this gag of his ought to be on the stage. He could do Dracula without makeup, unless he already had the makeup on, and if he did, it was a wow. Mac was talking again, it dawned on me. “If this wasn't my vacation—” he was saying.

If I'd been sober, by that time I'd have been suspecting my diagnosis of the situation. There was something just a little phony about it to be wrong. It was too slow an approach, it lacked the zip and tempo, the suddenness of shock described in that book. But I wasn't sober, quite. Anyhow, I bowed low and said, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume,” or something equally idiotic, and started across the room toward the guy Mac had just addressed as Herman. The gun jerked up in my direction. I heard Mac call out sharply, “Don't shoot!

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