The skeletal skinny man held his arm

  out stiff palm facing forward and bulldozed open saloon doors spraypainted gold.  The stainless steel kitchen had fabrics and body fluids on every surface.  The stiffarmed man had one piece of medical tape where his nose should've been and his teeth were just a bloody mangle in his mouth.  The palm forward broke a man's neck instantly.  The man didn't look dead.  Just stood there as the blood gushed out of his fat dirty pore nose.  Then his eyes rolled back to white and he fell backwards.  His head guts splattered on the small tiles.  Without looking the skinny man pulled a revolver from his suit jacket and shot six people dead.  One slumped but didn't sink.  The living skinny man collected guns as he made way back to the slumper.  The only one not temple shot.  "You gotta problem with what just happened here?" The man's eyes were starting to fill with blood dripping from where the bullet had cut across his forehead.  The skinny living man picked up the meat cleaver and cut off one of the slumper's hands.  He shook off the suit jacket with the pony on a stick arm and zipped up his black leather jacket.  "That's for the gold bars," he said real loud to a deadquiet and cleared of crowd village corner part of the avenue.  The woman drove up on a motorcycle.  Got off.  Removed a helmet that looked like part of the bike, tossed it to the man who donned it and got on first.

  "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT BY CUT," a thinning fat man with binoculars on a strap and a cigar scrunched between his teeth came out of a building across the street from where the motorcycle had stopped.  "I'm ah hard of hearwing now too."  One man said to the other, Let me look, Jesus, that WAS fast.  The skinny man closed his eyes.  Still have those eyelashes.  "Could be this." The woman opened the helmet face lid and looked.  She nodded dramatically.  Fished a Brownie camera from the motorcycle and took a picture.  The bullet was depressed into skin that had froze and thawed, froze and thawed.  The thinning fat man flicked at it with his middle finger.  "Ooowie" the skinny man smacked at the hand.  Act like lovers, the man warned and moved off. 

  "Like they're not going to see a golf cart, with it this quiet." The man put his whole hand in his mouth and whistled.  A scrappy dog came out from behind a canvas that looked like an alley.