8. Leftovers
Everywhere there was blood, dark red weaving a pattern of slaughter across the tile and walls. The bodies of the Roderick Gang lay strewn throughout the bar, like trash tossed carelessly away. On their faces were contortions of terror framed in bullet wounds, smoking pistols still clutched in their dead grips. Their former captives sat rigid, their mouths gaping in silent screams, the blood of the dead smeared on their faces.
Legato observed the scene with his baleful gaze. Then, pointing at his unfinished cheesecake, he addressed the shaking barkeep in his sadistic monotone.
"May I get this to go?"