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Murder Is But A Memory

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He stood there as cold and as stoic as the Statue of Liberty, only he wasn't holding a torch in the air. He was holding a .45, and had that compass of death aimed due north, right at my face.

"Youse jes don't know when to quit, do ya, Randolph?"

I lowered the gun and dropped it to the floor.

"Apparently not, Vic."

He looked at Sal, "Pick up your gun, useless. Watch him."

He waited for Sal to retrieve his gun from the floor and point it at me before he holstered his gun and looked around behind me...

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