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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Crime/Gangster · #2222945
Summer heat can be a killer.

The heat wave was in its second week and Pete Stark couldn't sleep. It was almost midnight and still over ninety degrees. The closest breeze must have been spending the weekend at the shore. He'd even tried sleeping in the bathtub: filled it with cold water and laid in it. It worked for about ten minutes, then he was hot again.

He'd been careful about being in front of the window. He owed some guys. The rent was overdue, so to speak. He picked up his phone and tapped in a number: "Any luck?" he asked. His head dropped with the reply.

"I'm a little late and it gets me this?" he complained, "Well try harder. Tell 'em to call off the dogs. I'll have it soon."

He tossed his phone on a chair and stared at it with disgust. He wanted to throw it against the wall. He took a deep breath and then it caught his eye. He stepped to the side of the window.

'That's one helluva sign.' he thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was blue neon and blinked seductively from atop the tallest building in view. Pete Stark smiled for the first time in a week. 'One helluva gorgeous sign.'

He was delirious from the heat. He stepped in front of the window for a better view.

"Siren brand gin is the cool choice." he mumbled.

Three shots busted through the glass and the suffering was all over for Pete Stark. He was cold.

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