frank had to get out of town.
it was a big town, and there were a hundred ways out of it.
but old man mose had them all covered.
frank was wise to mose and all his tricks.
he had to wait for his break, that was all.
the sun filtered through the high windows of the cavernous train station.
frank sat patiently on one of the long benches, surrounded mostly by old men wearing gray hats.
then daisy miller came along.
she sat down beside frank. not right beside him, but with a space between them.
daisy, with her soft curls framing her angelic face.
she did not look at frank, or speak to him.
frank knew the score, only too well.
like delilah with samson, like the queen of sheba with king solomon, like the lady in red with dillinger, daisy was there to finger frank.
old man mose’s web was closing in on him.
there was no sense just sitting there like a clay pigeon.
as casually as he could, frank stood and moved away from the bench, without looking back at daisy.
he headed, at a normal pace, for gate a, because it was closest.
and there was black joe, heading for it too, from the direction of the news stand.
if joe was there, the james brothers, frank and hank, could not be far away.
frank casually turned to his right, toward gate b and the cigar stand.
he stepped on the foot of one of the old men with a gray hat.
oh, excuse me, frank said, but the old man did not answer, or react at all.
frank looked closer and saw the old man was dead.
he looked around.
all the old men in their gray hats sitting on the benches were dead, staring straight ahead.
frank realized that everybody in the station was dead…
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