I raise my hand and say, “because the men outside work for Albert and I am more useful to you alive in here than I am dead outside.”
The barrel of the gun eases away from my head and the voice says, “turn around, slowly.”
I do as he says and find the barrel of an oversized revolver pointed straight between my eyes about six inches from my face. “I don’t suppose you would put that down would you?” I ask, not really expecting him to lower it, but I am reaching for something to say that backs up my claims of usefulness.
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