The familiar smell of cordite filled his nostrils as all the faces in the crowd turned gaping toward him. Shit. Hadn't folks back east ever seen anyone shoot a gun before?
"You killed him," a man in a fancy coat and hat finally said. Looked like maybe he hadn't got in from last night yet. Maybe that explained why he seemed kind of slow-witted.
"Well, yeah. That was sort of the object." And just about the highlight of this trip to Boston so far. Scott had warned him about coming with him in February, but who could have believed any place could get this cold? And the food---it was the worst fucking food he'd ever had.
So when Scott had taken sick and made them stay over at one of the train stops on the way, Johnny'd figured he'd see if he could find something better to eat. He'd been surprised to see so many people up before the sunrise on his way out of town. But then he'd seen the varmint they was all gathered around, trying to get him out of the town square where Johnny figured he didn't belong.
That was when he saw his chance to do the folks a favor, being as nobody seemed to have a gun. And he could maybe get himself a fresh meal in the doing. Shot him right in the head, dead before he hit the ground.
Everybody just kept staring. So he walked over and hefted the body. And that's when people starting buzzing. "Look! No shadow!"
And then they all just left.
That did it. Punxutawney had the be the strangest town on this trip yet. But at least this thing looked tasty.
---February 2, 2011