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I have read this tired phrase in innumerable thriller novels.† As I have little experience with firearms, I have always considered the phrase to be a writer’s crutch.† Yesterday, I learned firsthand the report of a gun is very similar to the ring of a bell, each with an ascending start, a definite sustained center, and a decay to the ambient sounds.

Late yesterday morning, I left my production facility for a short walk and placed a call to a friend and colleague.† Wind noise interfered with our conversation, so I ducked into the narrow confines of Republic Street just north of Green.† As we continued our conversation, I heard first one loud bang, followed immediately by several more loud reports.† It took me just a beat or so to realize that I was hearing gun fire.† My brain told me I heard four shots in rapid succession; the newspaper this morning told me there were six.

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The shots were fired on Race Street just south of Green, perhaps 50 yards from my location.† I was quite surprised I could discern that the shots came from south of me around the corner rather than north.† I waited in my protected alcove for half a minute or so to determine if the shooter was heading my way.† I saw no one leaving the scene heading my direction, so I walked around the corner onto Vine Street as I completed my conversation.

As I replaced my phone and turned, I saw a young man I know fairly well holding a towel over his face and being helped into a borrowed car.† Marcus had been shot in the face for the offense of waiting for the bus in the wrong place at the wrong time — on the day after he ran the Flying Pig marathon.

A few minutes later, the neighborhood was awash in police cruisers, motorcycles, bicycles, and Segways, followed by camera crews, television reporters and other associated media.† I returned to the place I had stood a few moments earlier.† It was now occupied by a police cruiser securing the crime scene by blocking Green Street.† I handed the officer inside my business card, pointed out where I was standing, and told her what I heard and saw.

As I walked away from the cruiser, the bells of St. Francis church began to ring the noon Angelus.† Reflexively, I slowed my pace and whispered “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Spirit.”† The peal of the bells bore sharp contrast to the report of gunshots, yet their similarities were eerie.

Just south of the crime scene tape on Race Street, I noticed a makeshift street memorial.† As I had never seen it before, it must be of recent vintage, bearing witness to some other tragedy only a few feet from the most recent.

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They say that violence is senseless.† It may be, but it is also calculated.† Calculated to exact retribution, to warn, to change behavior of a person or an entire community.† I wonder of the intended and unintended consequences of what I witnessed yesterday.

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Street Memorial, Race Street north of Liberty