A man on the train was pointing at an advertisement with his umbrella and a drop of water fell from it onto Simon’s neck.
“If I shot him with the gun I have in my pocket,” Simon thought, “would anybody notice? Would anybody care?”
He thought about this for a moment and decided that about seventy percent of the people in the carriage would notice and about twenty percent would care. He would probably be the only person who would think it was reasonable.
He wished that he had an umbrella so that he could pretend to accidentally prod this man as he left the train and then say “Oh, I’m sorry.” This phrase generally allows you to get away with anything. The phrase, in Simon’s opinion, was not quite strong enough to let him get away with murder though, so Simon didn’t shoot him.
The man with the umbrella stood up as the train pulled into Vauxhall Station, Simon remained seated. Revenge would be worth being a couple of seconds late at getting off of the train. As the man moved past Simon’s seat, Simon extended his leg and the man tripped over it.
Afterwards Simon would always have problems convincing people that if he had been wanting to kill the man he would have just used his gun, after all there was no way that Simon could have hoped that the man’s umbrella would stab him in that way. But there was something in the smile that Simon couldn’t hide from his face that always made people doubt that he was telling the truth.