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ut he didn't have to。 Percy just let go; and the gun fell to the floor。 His eyes went across us like they were skates and we were ice。 There was a low hissing sound and a sharp ammoniac smell as Percy's bladder let go; then a brrrap sound and a thicker stink as he filled the other side of his pants; as well。 His eyes had settled on a far corner of the corridor。 They were eyes that never saw anything in this real world of ours again; so far as I know。 Back near the beginning of this I wrote that Percy was at Briar Ridge by the time that Brutal found the colored slivers of Mr。 Jingles's spool a couple of months later; and I didn't lie about that。 He never got the office with the fan in the er; though; never got a bunch of lunatic patients to push around; either。 But I imagine he at least got his own private room。
He had connections; after all。
Wharton was lying on his side with his back against the wall of his cell。 I couldn't see much then but a lot of blood soaking into the sheet and splattered across the cement; but the coroner said Percy had shot like Annie Oakley。 Remembering Dean's story of how Percy had thrown his hickory baton at the mouse that time and barely missed; I wasn't too surprised。 This time the range had been shorter and the target not moving。 One in the groin; one in the gut; one in the chest; three in the head。
Brutal was coughing and waving at the haze of gunsmoke。 I was coughing myself; but hadn't noticed it until then。
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