The gate creaks open.
Jack hears it scrape against the ground.
One set of footsteps coming up the path.
Let it be Nicky, Jack thinks.
He holds the pistol at his side.
Pulls the hammer back and raises the gun.
Gets a whiff of something in the wind.
The smell of a burning cigarette.
Goddamn.
He tucks the pistol back under his shirt.
Goddamn, Billy.