Shotgun Honey

The Collection by John W. Dennehy

Danny stepped into the South Boston basement bar gladly getting a break from the elements. He had walked from his dive apartment to the corner of A Street. Winter was crawling in fast, but he only wore plaid pants and a leather coat, reaching down to his thigh. He needed to look tough. The .38 special was tucked into the right front pocket.

The crew was huddled in a booth near the front door. Part of the barroom walls were covered in cheap paneling and the rest was cinderblock. They drank cans of Schlitz, making plans for collecting debts. Sliding into the booth, his uncle Mickey acknowledged him, raising his chin before taking a swig of beer.

Danny glanced around the bar to see if anyone was listening. Nobody sat in the booths or at the bar nearby. People knew enough not to listen, but public meetings made Danny uncomfortable.