We needed a new American flag to hang up on our porch for the coming Fourth of July weekend because our old flag was getting kind of ragged and needed to be taken to the American Legion post for a proper disposal. Judith went with me to Target to get a new flag.

As I approached the cash register, I noticed the little family of three in front of us as we got in line for the register with fewest people, a habit of mine that I always obey even if I have to walk the sideways length of the store to do it and that drives Maria crazy, because it’s not like I’m hurrying home to do chores or something productive with the time that I save picking the shortest line.

It wasn’t until I was right behind the taller, handsomer man with his beautiful young wife and beautiful little girl that I realized who it was that I got in line behind with Judith by my side.

When he turned sideways to look at why his wife slightly gasped and we locked eyes, I said, “Oh hello, Marcos.”

“Hello,” Marcos said back at me as he sized me up and found me wanting.

“You being good?” was the idiot thing that popped out of my suddenly discombobulated mouth.

“Yeah . . . are YOU?” Marcos sneered.

What happened next occurred in slow motion but took about one second off the clock of my life.

As Marcos reached to his back pocket and pulled something out while still facing me slightly sideways like a good gunfighter would, then retrieved the thing he was reaching for and swung that arm in an arc toward me, I, in turn, shoved Judith behind me with one arm and grabbed my snub nosed .357 revolver from my open carry holster on my belt in the small of my back with my other arm and beat Marcos to the punch, firing one round that hit him center mass in his chest just as what he had flung at me hit me in the chest.

“Oh SHIT!” he breathed as he looked at me puzzled, then closed his eyes, and slumped to the ground in front of me like a suit of clothes that suddenly had no body in them to hold them upright.

Priscilla’s emerald eyes met mine, and I saw what looked like gratitude in them right before she and Dolores opened their ruby red mouths and split the air with twin blood-curdling screams.

[DISCLAIMER: NOBODY SHOT MARCOS. MARCOS ISN’T REAL. HE DOESN’T REMIND YOU OF ANYONE YOU KNOW OR THINK YOU KNOW. HE DIDN’T SAY, “OH SHIT!” WHEN HE GOT SHOT IN THE HEART. SOMEBODY PROBABLY DID, BUT IT WASN’T MARCOS. HOW DO I KNOW? I KNOW BECAUSE MARCOS IS NOT REAL.]