From Mayday...
  
   The gun went off, sending its red-hot missile into Josh’s head, which exploded in a spray of blood. His body slid down the wall and slumped in a heap. Second and third slugs pierced the plate. The driver slid the 1911 into the back of his waistband. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He pumped the soap vessel and washed off the powder residue. Reeled off the last foot of brown paper towel and dried his hands. He looked around one last time.
   “Shit, Josh, someone needs to tidy up in here. Smells like somethin’ up and died.”
   He blasted out the restroom door, nearly stumbling over the Rott lying on the ground, convulsing. He kicked aside the half-empty can of rat poison he’d dropped earlier. He looked left and right to make sure he’d been unobserved, and then he crouched in front of the suffering animal and looked at his tag. 
   “Shit, Brutus, didn’t old Josh tell ya too much red meat could kill ya?” His brutal laugh cut the night’s stillness. Then he reached around, pulled out the Colt, and delivered two shots to the dog’s head.