The lights are pretty down in the harbor, bobbing gently with the boats moored in their slips. John eases the pistol from his jacket pocket and holds it low beside the seat.
Doc pulls a vial of coke out of his pocket and pours two lines out on the dash. Leans down and snorts them right into his nose.
John pulls the hammer back.
Doc shakes his head to knock the coke down, looks at John, and says, “I did all right, huh? Snorting blow from a Lamborghini Countach? Doesn’t get much better than that, does it?”
“Hey, Doc,” John says, “remember when you used to buy me tacos?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Doc says. “Seems like a long time ago now.”
He looks out the window, down at the pretty lights.
“Goodbye, Doc.”
Guys out fishing on the stone jetty will later say that they saw the muzzle flash.
They didn’t see John get out of the car and get into a black Lincoln that pulled up.