The Gift of Power HTML version
The Gift of Power - Dan McNamara
“You’re going to take me down? Are you crazy?” Ras intended to speak unemotionally,
as always, but can’t help himself, “If you shoot me and arrest him, your family, your friends, will
die. This is fuckin’ Avery Perelle!”
Denson never heard the name before, but his suspicions are conﬁrmed. The hairs on the
back of his hands start to rise, signaling his body is about to panic, or go into cardiac arrest.
He knows the man is correct. It will be pointless to arrest Perelle. He has no evidence.
Avery Perelle will walk and all he will have, if he has the guts to use the weapon chattering in his
hands, is a wounded or dead assassin.
“You’re the one,” Denson speaks to Avery while keeping his eyes on Ras, “I know it in
my soul.” Salty drops are dripping from brow to lashes as he cranks his torso and pistol toward
Ras is amused by Denson’s dilemma. As if he just noticed him, Avery ﬁnally speaks to him
from a lifetime of cynicism, “Go ahead, shoot me. I’m seventy-ﬁve years old. I don’t care any
more.” Avery means it. Yet he doesn’t.
Denson hesitates, questioning himself, “What the hell am I suppose to do now?”
Ras’s gun has never wavered, steadily aimed at Avery. He’s getting frustrated, knowing
it’s time to take both of the old farts down and get out of here. His pause matters. All hell breaks