climb dark stairs to the second floor.
Press the buzzer, feeling beat,
my throat is dry, this stifling heat.
Seconds later I'm told to enter
a smoke-filled room, I'm standing centre.
The man looks up and meets my gaze,
with steel-blue eyes in stone-cold face.
Papers shuffled, he finds the one,
he stubs his cigarette, it's done.
Lights another and takes a drag
of his fast-diminishing final fag.
I take the chance and draw my gun,
I know that he's the foolish one
who threatened me that hateful day
and commandeered my hard-earned pay.
Protection money going up,
left visions of half empty cup.
I raise the weapon, feel it jump;
see bloody mess and fateful slump.
I know that life won't be the same,
I've played him at his evil game.
I know I have to pay the price,
there is no throwing of the dice.
For him, he went a step too far,
I called his bluff and raised the bar
and now he's slouching, dripping drool,
there's nothing left; the ashtray's full.
By Alan Dickie
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