Did you throw that bottle

"Did you throw that bottle?"
The heavy brown eyes stared sullenly back at him.
"What were you doing?"
"It was a bomb,Moncler Outlet."
"Were you throwing it at me?"
"No."
"What then?"
"A gringo."
The lieutenant smiled—an awkward movement of the lips: "That's right, but you must aim better." He kicked the broken bottle into the road and tried to think of words which would show these children that they were on the same side. He said: "I suppose the gringo was one of those rich Yankees who think ..." and surprised an expression of devotion in the boy's face; it called for something in return, and the lieutenant became aware in his own heart of a sad and unsatisfiable love. He said: "Come here." The child approached, while his companions stood in a scared semi-circle and watched from a safe distance. "What is your name,cheap designer handbags?"
"Luis."
"Well," the lieutenant said, at a loss for words, "you must learn to aim properly."
The boy said passionately: "I wish I could." He had his eye on the holster.
"Would you like to see my gun?" the lieutenant said. He drew his heavy automatic from the holster and held it out: the children drew cautiously in. He said: "This is the safety—catch. Lift it. So. Now it's ready to fire."
"Is it loaded?" Luis asked.
"It's always loaded."
The tip of the boy's tongue appeared: he swallowed. Saliva came from the glands as if he smelt blood. They all stood close [52] in now. A daring child put out his hand and touched the holster. They ringed the lieutenant round: he was surrounded by an insecure happiness as he fitted the gun back on his hip.
"What is it called?" Luis asked.
"A Colt No. 5."
"How many bullets?"
"Six."
"Have you killed somebody with it?"
"Not yet," the lieutenant said.
They were breathless with interest. He stood with his hand on his holster and watched the brown intent patient eyes: it was for these he was fighting. He would eliminate from their childhood everything which had made him miserable,LINK, all that was poor, superstitious, and corrupt. They deserved nothing less than the truth—a vacant universe and a cooling world, the right to be happy in any way they chose. He was quite prepared to make a massacre for their sakes—first the Church and then the foreigner and then the politician—even his own chief would one day have to go. He wanted to begin the world again with them,moncler jackets men, in a desert.
"Oh," Luis said, "I wish ... I wish ..." as if his ambition were too vast for definition. The lieutenant put out his hand in a gesture of affection—a touch, he didn't know what to do with it. He pinched the boy's ear and saw him flinch away with the pain: they scattered from him like birds and he went on alone across the plaza to the police station, a little dapper figure of hate carrying his secret of love. On the wall of the office the gangster still stared stubbornly in profile towards the first communion party: somebody had inked the priest's head round to detach him from the girls' and the women's faces: the unbearable grin peeked out of a halo. The lieutenant called furiously out into the patio: "Is there nobody here?" Then he sat down at the desk while the gun-butts scraped the floor.