(2013) Shooter

by Jack Parker

  That's what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Daisuke hadn't meant a damn word he'd said, and now had happily handed me off to a man who obviously planned to kill me.

  That nasty, sarcastic voice piped up again. I wonder how much he's getting for you…? I'd at least hope it was a good sum, for all the work he's put into his little act. Sure had Julia convinced too… unless she's in on this as well?

  Julia would never. I asserted, but my common sense kept going.

  Grow up, Gracie. Look around you. How many friends have you got now? None. Face it, you're alone.

  Allan's next words interrupted my inner war. "Pick her up, would you? I'd like to speak face-to-face."

  A set of strong hands hefted me by my shoulders, placing me upright, on my knees. I wobbled slightly as I looked behind me.

  It was Daisuke.

  "Don't you fucking touch me." I hissed. If looks could kill, he'd have spontaneously combusted right there on the spot. I jerked my shoulder from his grasp.

  I'm not a total idiot. I wouldn't sit there in denial and believe that he hadn't turned coat, when it was so painfully obvious.

  But seeing him there, on the other side, not tied up like me and taking orders from Allan drove the weight of his treason straight home. It bit like a knife in the chest.

  A jagged, rusty knife, twisted to cause the most pain possible.

  "Grace…" He muttered, his eyes pleading. For what? Forgiveness? Understanding? Empathy? I very nearly laughed in his face.

  Fat fuckin' chance, buddy-boy.

  I pointedly tore my gaze away from his and made myself stare at the hardwood paneling.

  "Are you having second thoughts, Daisuke?" Allan chortled, obviously enjoying this a great deal. "You may always leave."

  "No need." He grunted blankly. I flinched and shut my eyes against the tears that threatened to well up.

  As I sat there, I managed to force words through my clenched teeth, biting off every syllable with as much venom as possible. "So, Connor, other than Dai here how many people do you have on the payroll?"

  My voice was flat, cold, devoid of any emotion, despite the turmoil in my head.

  Allan answered, his tone matching mine. "Well, you personally saw to Mr. Carson first. Then there were the four on Trivisidero, dirty cops, whom Daisuke here handled well… I must say… and then there are a few hired guns about to make sure of my personal safety. It wouldn't do to have any crafty little assassins like yourself sneaking around to do me in. So you see, I'm quite secure."

  I glanced behind me. Surely enough, there was a tall, nondescript man in black leaning casually against one wall, an assault rifle slung across his person. He contemplated me as I stared, exuding cool professionalism.

  "He must have cost a pretty penny, huh?" I jerked my head in the merc's direction.

  Allan shrugged. "It doesn't matter. He does his job. So, Miss Pryor… back to business."

  I shrugged as well. "Whatever. It's not like I have a say."

  "You were the one who killed my brother, Scott." He stated plainly.

  "Yes." Well, I wasn't going to deny it.

  "So now that I have you here, I'm obviously not going to just let you go with a slap on the wrist, am I?" he almost sounded rueful. I stared him in the eye, my expression hard and unreadable.

  "No, I don't suppose you are." I answered his rhetorical question.

  Allan walked closer, studying me with a thoughtful look. He asked;

  "Are you afraid?"

  As if I would give you the satisfaction. "No." I answered. And I wasn't.

  Hurt? Yeah. Pissed-off? A lot. Scared? Not at all.

  "I wonder if you're lying to me…" Allan wondered aloud, still studying me. I gave him no response. "But it matters little."

  "Because you're going to kill me, right?" My tone was flat, inflectionless. I wasn't capable of feeling at the moment.

  Allan shrugged. "Yes. I am. And it won't be pleasant for you."

  Connor Allan had to be at least as cold as I was, to discuss this so calmly. He may have even been a sociopath. I never found out.

  Several minutes passed, in which time nobody moved at all.

  Getting impatient, I blurted out; "So are you going to fuckin' do it or not?"

  All I earned was a lifted eyebrow. "Are you so eager to die?"

  Sarcasm was all he earned from me for that stupid-ass question. "I've always been a little bit of a masochist."

  I could tell Connor thought I was insane. He just regarded me with this cool impassivity that set my teeth in edge. He might have been wondering why I didn't beg forgiveness. For my life.

  The answer was simple: I would not beg like a dog on my knees for mercy. I would not do anything but stare down my death and maybe even welcome it. Maybe that would be my mercy; the ending of my life.

  Peace.

  If that's what I was getting, then let it come, and all the quicker, if you don't mind. I'd never liked to be kept waiting.

  Like a flash, one leather loafer connected with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I bent forward, gasping for breath.

  But I wouldn't beg.

  Allan wrapped a hand in my hair and jerked me upright, uprooting several hairs from my scalp. I winced, but glared at him all the same. He pulled back his foot again and kicked me across the face, the ball of his foot catching my cheek. My head snapped sideways and my neck cracked painfully.

  But I wouldn't beg.

  He kicked me again, and I felt my nose break. Blood flowed freely from the wound, staining the cream rug like wine.

  "Are you finished yet?" I asked blearily, blinking up at him. My head was swimming again, as though I was drunk.

  That quip earned me a jab to the breastbone, knocking me backwards. My breathing was labored, coming in gasps. Had he broken a rib?

  I lay on my back, on top of my arms. My wrapped left arm was screaming protest. So was my face, my chest.

  And I didn't care.

  I could see Allan's furious expression as he aimed another blow at me, this time in my side, causing me to curl over in pain.

  "Are you finished yet?" He spat, almost beyond words.

  All I saw next was the sole of a leather shoe as it came down on my head, splitting my lip and holding me jaw-down to that carpet.

  But I wouldn't beg.

  "Why won't you just give up, huh? I'll keep hitting you and hitting you until you die a terrible, painful death. You can choke on your own blood for all I care. Or you can beg, and I can end your suffering nice and easy." Allan whispered.

  So all I had to do was beg, and I'd be ensured a fast and expedient trip to the Light, huh?

  For some reason, I found that incredibly funny.

  Horrible, choking laughs issued forth from my ruined chest. They sounded much more like wheezes, coughs, coming from someone who was dying from suffocation. Blood from both my lip and my lungs sprayed the carpet around my head.

  "What's so damn funny?" he removed his foot so I could answer.

  I coughed, and a globule of crimson spattered the floor. I grinned up at him, all of my bloody teeth showing. "You've got to be the sorriest bastard I've ever met. If you think I'm about to beg for my life, then you might as well just shoot yourself."

  "You'd rather be beaten?"

  "Like I said, I've always been a little bit of a masochist." I lifted my head a few inches and spat a mouthful of coppery liquid at his feet. "Go fuck yourself. If it'll reach."

  More wheezing chuckles came from me as I looked for my former ally. Daisuke was standing exactly where he had been he entire time, an odd look on his face. It looked like emotional agony, but I couldn't be sure. My vision wasn't so great. "Happy?" I mumbled to him. He flinched.

  I dragged my gaze over to my torturer, to find that he was missing, having moved off into the periphery.

  "We done playing so soon?" I gasped.

  That was when a baseball bat came crashing down on my right leg. A scream tore from my throat, the most pathetic soun
d I'd ever heard in my life. The edges of my vision faded to black.

  The onslaught subsided for a few moments, in which time I'd decided something important.

  I was going to sit upright and stare my death in the muddy-brown eyes. He would not own me.

  Ignoring all of the many pains of my broken body, I fought my way upright and back onto my knees. I straightened my shoulders. I raised my head. And I stared Connor Allan in the eye as he raised the barrel of a pistol even with my head.

  "Are you going to fucking kill me or not?" I shouted in my hoarse, ruined voice.

  I could see the flared nostrils in his nose, the beads of sweat on his forehead, the crease between his eyebrows from his anger.

  But the gunshot I heard didn't come from his gun. It came from somewhere far away, accompanied by the sound of tinkling glass and a cry of surprise that died instantly as a bullet ravaged Connor Allan's throat, ripping it to pieces.

  He fell right there on the carpet in front of me, with a look of shock so profound that I knew in that instant that I was saved.

  Connor Allan died right there in front of me, gasping for air that he couldn't breathe.

  A grunt of pain and a misfired shot that made me jump, and I spun around, a movement that nearly overbalanced me.

  Daisuke had the mercenary pinned to the ground, his big hands around the man's throat. The merc's face was an odd purplish color, I remarked with some detachment. It was becoming difficult to focus.

  I couldn't hold myself up any longer, and I toppled over just as the door to the basement slammed open and a small crowd of people rushed through.

  My best friend was among them.

  Julia ran straight to me, looking as though she were on the verge of tears. She skidded to a halt next to me, trying to figure out what to do.

  I managed words. "Looks like that's three close shaves now, huh, Julie?" I smiled as best I could, and she smiled back. There was some relief in her eyes.

  Because surely, if I could make wisecracks, I was going to be fine.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2013 by Jack Parker