I Ain’t So Dumb

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This here corpse of Mr. Eurich didn’t look so good. He hadn’t been such a good-looking man, anyhow. He had more thousands of dollars than any man ought to have and he bought fine clothes and cars and stuff to make him smell good. He lived in a house the likes of which you’ve never seen before, with all its thick rugs, special made furniture, and oil pictures of nigh-naked women in those three rooms he called the library and the den and the game room. But for all his money, Mr. Eurich was a fat, evil-looking man. He had no shoulders much, and that made his stomach look all the bigger. His skin was about the color of dead-white calcimine on a plaster wall.

And there he was laying now, smack in the middle of his living room floor. He had bled all over the place, worse than a stuck hog. He had been shot three times in his big, soft face. I straddled a chair over in the corner and thought as how it was enough to make a-body shudder.

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