Mig cycles the pistol's action. Quick snap. Metal on metal. He holds it high. A click and the magazine slips out, caught in his other hand. "One round chambered," he says. "Safeties off. Just aim and go."

The Jinx boys standing in a semi-circle, watching. Nico with one foot on a rail. August on the side.

You're not looking at me, Nico, like you don't want to know me.

Mig hands the gun barrel-first to Nando. Then he takes the other .45 from his pocket and prepares it to match the first one. "Okay, Nando, let's place them. Not too far."

Nando and Mig walk backward over the tracks, each holding a pistol. Nico steps aside to let Nando pass.

Look at them, August, disciplined, in control. How we all should be. Mig knows what to do. He'll make a good right-hand man.

Nando and Mig are about ten yards apart. "Stop," says Mig. They both bend and set the pistols in the centers of railroad ties, the muzzles pointing at each other.

"Nico, August," Mig says, spreading his arms.

The other Jinx boys step off the tracks. Nico and August break away and each go to stand over a gun.

Straddling guns now, Nico. Did you ever imagine it? We were just children before, dancing around with knives, flashing silver this way, cutting that way. There's no real reason why we became what we are today. That truck parked by the strip joint. Just a truck. Us just playing around. Seeing what we could do before someone chased us away. Boxes. Whole boxes of guns and bullets.

Streetlights of Harvest quarter big yellow spots on the other side of the fence. Here only the pale half moon and the rusted metal and cracked wood of the old water tower propped up, a black volume on thin struts.

The first gun in my hand felt solid like a solid fist. I was meant to feel that, August. We were meant to be bigger than what we were before the guns. When a powerful man like Leopold Boggs wants you to work for him, you don't say no. You can't say no to power.

Mig in the long space between them. "Count back twenty-five steps on the wood," he says.

August watches the ties pass beneath him as he walks backwards. The gun, waiting, steel black. Dark wood. Silver rails ground down to gleaming chrome.

Eight, nine. Your idea, Nico, all these rules? You always liked games. Now you think you can play with the big men in Jinx. We were always our own. Whatever made you think you were big enough to take orders? I made us what we are, Nico, the guns just happened.

Fifteen, sixteen. You have to run fast, aim quick, shoot dead-on. That's how you fight, that's how you lead the Jinx boys. One leads. One kisses the belly of the next train.

Nineteen, twenty. We'd still be wrestling in your dad's garage. We'd still be dueling out with knives until somebody's jacket ripped. But now we've got these.

Twenty-three, twenty-four. The first time I loaded the gun and let the slide snap into place I kissed the side of the barrel, cold, long, and whispered Ave Maria.

Nico at one end. August at the other. Seven other Jinx boys waiting under the water tower. Nando leans against a strut, easy hands in pockets. Alex sitting on the ground, pulling a comb through his hair. Valentin pulling at his short beard.

Mig still on the tracks. "You both ready?"

August nodding.

We were baptized together at St. Genesius', Nico. Or at least that's what my mother tells me. We were born in blood, washed in holy water, the priest raised us up to our mothers who passed us on to run wild in Grace, snatch bullets in Jinx, and lunge for each other's blood on the rails.

Nico giving thumbs-up.

The gun decides, August. The powder exploding in your hand that makes your whole body electric and tight. You always thought about everything. Should we really do this, should we risk that, what's gonna' happen if we do this--enough of it. We're quick and mean now, nothing in our way. The gun will do what the gun does, and I won't think about it.

"I'll count down to zero." Mig steps off the tracks and starts backing up to the water tower.

"3."

Nico crouched, rocking his body from his right leg ready to spring to his left ready to push.

"2."

August clenches and unclenches his fists. A jacket flapping loose about his waist.

"1."

Mig under the water tower. Nando. Alex. Valentin. Four others. Thick black shock of Nico's hair falls out of place over his forehead.

"0."

Nico and August are running, trying to land each foot on a tie instead of the earth between them. The pistols, small things waiting.

Alex is standing up now. He yells, "Come on, Nico." Nando's fist pounding on metal tower strut. "August, run." Valentin. "Nico, you fucker, move."

This is a gun world, Nico. You must kill a man you consider your brother just to keep on living.

Wooden slats passing underfoot. Rush of breeze cold in sleeves, against chests, enormous.

They howl for our blood, August.

August is bending down even as his legs are stopping. One hand out to keep the ground from hitting him while the other is feeling for the gun's handle. Fingers around the grip. A finger finding trigger. Lifting. Nico's face smooth under black jag of hair framed in the gun's sights. Nico reaching for his gun.

Can you really live after you've killed your brother.

Quick shiver of the metal tower reacting to the gun blast. A large, dull sound that fills up the space between the tracks and the lights on the other side of the fence.

Nico crouched, one arm extended long ending in pistol hand, the slide stopped back, smoking open. Mig is the first to run to August, then Nando. The other boys leaning out from under the tower. August on his back, blood heavy on his face, filling eyes.

"You got him," says Mig. "You got him good."

Nico stands straight, pushes the slide closed with heel of hand and puts the gun barrel to his lips. "Ave Maria." Nando and Mig are waiting by the body. "You listen to me now," says Nico. "Let's get out of here."