Looking back on it now, I have to saw that it's rather odd that in most stories like this, the narrator now tells his readers in cool, measured tones ...ust what sort of gun it was, which country it was made in, what calibre the barrel was and other information of that ilk... yet all I can recall was it was big, black, dangerous and pressed against my forehead. Terrified, I reacted in a simple, primeval manner and lost control of myself, a stream of warm urine spurting out of me and quickly. "Man here to see you," she told him. Billy nodded, ignoring his nakedness."You taking that stuff?" She looked just over his head, aware of his shadowed genitals.He nodded again, holding out his broken hand. "Hurts like the very devil." Shall I bring him up?" Thank you," he said with a shudder, pulling the sheet between his legs as Anne hurried away."Clark, miss, John Clark." The big man waiting in the kitchen removed his battered hat. "How is he?" Not too well. They beat him badly." The man was. More

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