He looked inside the barrel, but couldn't remember where it was.

His eyes were watery, squinty, lying...

I asked him to relax; his nervousness made me nervous.

His hands grasped his scalp indelicately as his lips worked, wordless and exhaling.

Eyes like dotted billiards flicked, but an instant, at a portrait on a string.

A gasp, a bang, a barrel, smoking...

To my accomplice, "the safe's behind the painting. We're rich."

Check out the Man...

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