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Leaving Complacency Two steps beyond the saloon's ornate swinging doors I hang a sharp right. He follows. When I turn left at the second corner he turns left. I pick up the pace. He seems not to but I can see over my shoulder he doesn't lose ground. I stop beneath a street light as if to light a cheroot. He shifts slightly to the right, just enough to gaze into a pawn shop window in which I suspect I am reflected. When he turns again his trench coat and mouth swing open. I see he's armed to the teeth with yellow teeth contraband ordinance, hammer and tongs with which he comes after me tooth and nail. I must've crossed him. It could've been a woman money, a job something he wanted and thinks I got instead, something I had to give but withheld, the deference I gave sparingly. It's too late. I had a sense I was an interest. Without noticing the transition, I became his secret mission.
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