What Toby did was walk out to his car, which was parked directly in front of McGill's. That was the only luck he'd had in the last three days: finding that parking spot. He jerked open the passenger-side door, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out the gun--a Smith & Wesson .357 revolver with a walnut grip and a three-inch barrel. He slammed the car door shut and walked back into McGill's--and immediately saw the whale at a table, sitting by himself, still wearing his trench coat and his stupid hat. Toby walked over to him and, without hesitating, shot him three times. "That'll teach you to fuck with me," he muttered. It was as if the sound of the gunshots woke him from a nightmare, and he suddenly realized what he'd done. He stood for no more than a second looking at the fat man--his white shirt was turning crimson--then he ran. He almost hit a busboy carrying a tray of glasses before he got to the door, banged it open, jumped into his car, and took off. He was driving away less than a minute after he killed Dominic DiNunzio. As he was driving he kept saying, "What did you do? What did you do?" The short-barreled .357 was on the passenger seat, but it was no longer an inanimate object. To Toby it was alive, like a malignant machine in a Stephen King novel, giving off heat, possessing a dark, throbbing heart. Excerpted from House Witness by Mike Lawson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
