The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued
Page 121
They drank rye whiskey neat. Capone talked about bootlegging routes and the poetry of violence. Gilda listened, half hypnotized, half bored, until a violinist struck up a tune that made her heart stutter. It was the same melody her grandmother used to hum while baking lemon pie; a detail that made no historical sense.
Then came the shootout.
It started with a shattered window and a scream. Men in trench coats burst in, Tommy guns blazing. Capone ducked behind the bar, cursing in Italian. Gilda stood up, calm as a librarian, and threw her Queen of Spades into the air. It spun like a shuriken, slicing through the chaos, and everything froze.
Time paused. Bullets hung midair like ornaments. Capone looked at her, eyes wide.
“What the hell are you?”
“Just a dream,” she said. “But a dangerous one.”
She walked out as the scene resumed behind her, the card dissolving into ash. Outside, the rain had stopped. A newspaper boy shouted headlines about a mysterious woman vanishing from a gangster’s den.