The sunlight was glaring and assaulted my eyes as I burst through the front doors of the delapidated hotel. A long night of ducking into shadows and tense showdowns had left them bloodshot and aching. My vision was so impaired I had to stop at the sidewalk, but it seemed a good time to check myself for blood stains.

I realized carrying the old revolver with the broken handle, though necesary and even helpful last night, was not going to go unnoticed on the L.A. strip. Poor thing probably wouldn’t have fired anyway, not when Dr. Keiger had confronted me about the dossier, not when Liz had told me of her affair, and probably not now when I’d have just as soon turned it on myself.

Some oblivious surfer bum, sun-bleached hair and tanned skin said enthusiasticly to me while admiring the vista of palm trees and glistening sand, “Dude, is it not a most awesome of awesome days?” He was so content, so happy just to be alive.

That’s when I decked him. Some people should learn to keep their mouths shut.