Blondy staggered but kept himself from falling by gripping the edge of the bar with his left hand; the right, still holding the gun, raised and rubbed across his forehead; he looked like a sleeper awakening.
Not a sound from any one else, while Vic watched the tiny wraith of smoke jerk up from the muzzle of his revolver.

Then Blondy's gun flashed down and clanked on the floor.

A red spot grew on the breast of Hansen's shirt; now he leaned as if to pick up something, but instead, slid forward on his face.

Vic stepped to him and stirred the body with his toe; it wobbled, limp..