Last Man To Die (3)
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to the interview, while I was sprawling there in the doorway and my buddy took over the machine gun, Capa crawled toward me. There I am, a dumb corporal from the north side of Chicago, a day laborer, the son of a no-good drunk, and I’m on display. He waited to watch the blood ooze out of my head wound. And he took a series of shots. As if he was telling me to say ‘cheese.’ As if I were posing for my own goddamned death…”

“You’re shouting.” Fiona touched Rosario’s arm. Several patrons turned toward the couple. The bartender came over.

“You okay?” he said, leaning on the bar.

“Sure,” said Rosario. “Just getting a little hot under the collar about something some guy did to me.” The barkeeper shrugged and walked away.


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