I had my gun out by the time he arrived, but he was coming so fast he hadn’t time to apply his brakes. I cracked him on top of his skull and he stretched out on the carpet.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the woman. “But you saw how it was.”
She looked down at the mountain of flesh without a great show of interest or distress.
“Have you killed him?” she asked.
She sounded as if she hoped I had.
I shook my head. “No.”
“He won the Purple Heart,” she said, looking at me. “I wonder if you know what that means? He likes to explain the battle to people.”
“You mean he moves the salt cellar and the spoons and the pepper-box, and shows dispositions, manoeuvres and advances?”
“That is the general idea,” she said, lifting her elegant shoulders.
I looked down at the red-faced man and thought she couldn’t I have much fun with him.