Farewell … by Amy Friedman

I scrambled behind the nearest pillar, hoping I’d be completely hidden.
“Jack, now come on. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man,” I said silkily.
“You got arms, Fleece,” said One-Eyed Jack. “I see you, I shoot you.”
Working quickly, I unhooked my prosthetic left arm and let it drop to the floor.
“OK, I’m unarmed,” I said, kicking the arm to the center of the room.
“Aaaah!” One-Eyed Jack yelled. “What in tarnation?”
“Tar nation indeed, Mister Jack,” I said, whipping from behind the pillar, my .44 drawn and cocked. “You just landed yourself in a whole mess of sticky.”

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