It didn't take her long to drive downtown. There were no other cars on the streets, and the current to the traffic lights had been cut three years before. She passed only a prowling squad car, and the two police stared at her curiously. She parked a block from Antola's. Leaving the car, she slung her purse, heavy with the gun, over her arm. Briskly she walked down the deserted street. Antola, standing behind the bar, was tall, thin and red-headed. He stared at her incredulously, wiping his hands repeatedly on his long white apron. She went past the bar to a small table. Antola continued to wipe his hands, as if they would not quite come dry. "You want something?" "Yes, bring me a bacon and tomato sandwich and milk." "Don't have bacon and tomato. Kippie, she likes tuna. Bass hamburg. Lester and Alice, they both take grilled cheese. Which do you want?" "Bring me tuna and milk." "Kippie, she says milk don't go with tuna. Makes a big blob inside." "I said tuna and milk." "Okay, if you want a blob inside. Kippie don't." He ambled away. Not knowing how long she might have to wait, she nibbled at her sandwich. Soon she heard voices approaching the restaurant. She snaked her hand toward the purse, opened it and clutched the gun. Alice entered first, her hair a disciplined halo of red-gold, her eyes vivid green. She was quarreling with Bass, who cheerfully ignored her, his penetrating eyes staring greedily at the bottles behind the bar. Small, precocious-seeming Kippie followed, her dark hair ruffled by the wind. She stared lovingly up into Lester's eyes. When the door had closed behind them, Amanda stood and raised the gun. They hadn't noticed her, they'd been too anxious to mount the bar stools. Ducks in a shooting gallery, she thought. Alice was sitting nearer her, combing her hair with her fingers. Holding the gun out before her with both hands, Amanda aimed it at Alice's hair. She pulled the trigger. At the sound, they all tried to duck, except Alice, who folded quietly to the floor. Amanda aimed again, and this time Lester crumpled. Ducks in a shooting gallery, she thought. See if you can make that big drake, Bass, fall off his stool. Bass fell. Kippie screamed, banishing her dimples, and fell beside him. Antola had disappeared. It didn't matter. She returned the gun to her purse. She hadn't decided what to do next. Suddenly feeling hungry, she sat down to finish her sandwich. * * * * * When she was through, she rose, slung her purse over her arm again and stepped past the four bodies. They hardly seemed real, lying in their separate pools of crimson. The two policemen came in, staring at her again. "Catch her!" Antola cried from beneath the bar. "She done it! She killed them all! Poor little Kippie!" The florid policeman locked his hand about her wrist, while the other cried for Antola to come out.