Dying Breath. Wendy Corsi Staub

sleep before he has to be back behind the counter at Packages Plus.

      Sometimes, he imagines asking Angela—who, he’s heard through the grapevine, is divorced with a couple of kids—if she wants to go out with him. But a hot older woman like her wouldn’t want to ride the bus to T.G.I. Fridays and the multiplex.

      It’ll have to wait until fall.

      As he walks along the deserted street toward the bus stop, Eddie smiles at the thought of Angela on the back of his new bike, her arms and legs wrapped around him.

      Dream big. Yup.

      All he needs is—

      “Dude!” he blurts involuntarily as a figure abruptly steps out of the shadows in front of him.

      Startled, Eddie stops short—he has no choice, the person is standing squarely on the sidewalk, facing him, blocking his way.

      “What—”

      Then he sees the gun.

      In the split second before it goes off, he looks up. In shocked recognition of the shooter’s face, his voice clogged with dread, he begins to ask, “Why—–”

      Then a flash of blinding pain, and everything shatters: his bewilderment, his big dreams, his skull.

      Lying on the sidewalk with his brains spattered around him, Eddie Casalino dies.

      The lone witness is his black-clad killer, who whispers, “Sorry, dude,” before tucking away the gun and disappearing into the night.