He let the lady climb up the stairs and he followed. He always followed. "Up, right at the end, red door on the left", He said; in a rather loud voice. He was hurrying her. A gentleman like him was not supposed to be seen with someone like her. He was indeed a gentleman, and she was too much of a lady for him, with light red lipstick, used so much that it appeared dark, she was surely less than five hundred a night. On her way up, her heels made a rhythmic sound. It made him worry, thinking simultaneously about the neighbor downstairs. A queer old Lithuanian who had a very strong ear and the tiniest of sounds disturbed him.




Ed, the gentleman walked in the apartment. "Cognac?", he asked while taking two glasses out. Two ice cubes per glass, rockioles. She walked to the sofa and said, "This is a nice place", looking at the Matisse on the wall, 'Dessert, harmony in red'. He proceeded to turn on Brahms and dim the lights and made himself comfortable next to her, on the sofa. As soon as his hands were active, he heard a knock on the door. "Sir, keep the voice down, I'm an old man, sleep time sir!".




He lost it there. "Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch, go away or I'll come out and shoot you!" And the knocking disappeared, followed by a swift noise of old feet, trying to achieve a speed the body didn't allow them to.

He'd seen the girl and now she had to go before everybody knew. Ed wasn't terribly excited about her departure. But he wasn't very unhappy either. His last bit of joy, he thought, was the brown liquid. It would loosen it up before he ceases, to be. A tiring day, but the ice had cooled down the Cognac. He sipped from the wrong end. Now the liquid entered his veins, as he gulped it. He felt as if, as if it was rejuvenating and soaking every single one of his tired muscles with itself. He knew it was doing exactly the opposite, he knew, he will eventually be tired, older and dehydrated with enough of the cold cold drink. The second glass was much faster than the first one. He felt relaxed now. It had to be done, before he loses the courage. "Get up, turn left and find the 44mm. Colt, Always loaded", he said to himself, not that the words came out, but he knew that was what that had to be done. A funny little piece, he'd won it in a bet, racing. Surprisingly, his gait was appreciably distorted for a man of his capacity. Even the Cognac left his side, in the last moment.

Now, he hoped and prayed too, "No disturbances now, please! Lord". He finally had the courage, if not courage Cognac; inside of him. He struggled with the locker, some important papers fell down followed by a bunch of gold bricks clamorously. After all, he was a man in the government, gold, silver, bonds, watches, that was his real income. Surprisingly, the noise did not affect him, and he was determined now, not to worry about the Lithuanian. And then, there, he found it. The funny little shining black piece: Colt 44mm, always loaded. There was a knock on the door, again, for the second time that day. "Can you please keep it down? I'll have to call the police here now!" Ed did not bother, he made his way out of the room. He wanted to be in front of Matisse, and with Brahms. He struggled a bit, he didn't want to mess up with the important papers. In the living room, the knocks were heard more prominently than the bedroom and Ed started losing his patience. He looked at the funny little piece, Colt 44mm, always loaded and smiled; weakly, very weakly. He thought about positions, "neck? head? What's more effective? What should I aim for? Less pain or more surety?" None of the words came out, but they were heard by him, no doubt. The knocks and funny accented warnings were competing with his rational calculations, seeking for his attention, the Cognac was waning too. "Papers, pain, bricks, neck, ice, the lipstick, harmony in red, Colt, Lithuania", suddenly he had a bright idea and he smiled, a bit more expressively than the last time. He calmly walked to the table, in that continual noise from outside. Filled another glass and gulped it down, this time from the correct end. Without ice. He purposefully let the glass off from his hands, ensuring more noise on the inside and thus from the outside. The police were surely on their way, so he had to be quick. He waited a bit for the Cognac to reach his body and mind.

Then, slowly he walked to the door and opened it. The man outside was stunned, looking at him and the funny little piece: Cold 44mm, always loaded. Ed stepped backwards, to make sure that he didn't miss and shoot the man in the chest. The old one crumpled like a piece of paper. On the floor, bleeding. When you die of a shock wound, the blood does not effuse continuously. It sprinkles out, and for someone with arrhythmia, at random intervals. Before Ed could proceed killing himself, he could not help but observe the miracle of life, the death. The face was painless, owing to Parkinson and it was a mute death, Harmony in red. The color, the absence of sound and emotion made his hand stiff and mind numb. He decided to wait, for the police to come.