|Thirteen Stories Up
Author: Sheff PM
A man is at gunpoint, but is perfectly calm. Written for a small contest on a different site.Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor - Words: 1,183 - Published: 06-03-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2920361
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The hard, cold, metal of a pistol on the back of my neck sent shivers down my spine. With a quick roll of the eyes, I stole a glance behind me, my expression indifferent to the man who now stood there, his stance confident as he held the weapon. A bit too confident, in my honest opinion.
"Jesus, what'd you do with that toy of yours? Stick it in an ice bath? Fuckin' freezing, I tell ya," I told him, my voice not resonating one note of fear for him. Wasn't going to give this guy any satisfaction. Hell, I've had enough dimwits pointing guns at my head before I was even in highschool. Just me still being around should be a significant enough lesson to make sure not another one tries the same song and dance again.
"Shut it, or else the folks down there are going to have a nice news headline for tomorrow morning," he growled, obviously not amused.
I gave a brief sigh, deciding to look down. Before me lay a deadly drop; thirteen stories of brick and glass before a solid landing onto concrete below, random passerby going to and fro. Lot less people than there could have been, but boy, it would be quite the scene if a sudden ragdoll decided to make its drop on the innocent civilians.
"It's one thing to put me at gunpoint, but redundant to add another homicide option to the equation, bud," I remarked, my hands in my pockets, my feet shifting on the eroded concrete slab that should be serving as a barrier to keep me from not falling. "How about we just go back to my apartment, take off our coats, and talk about this in a relaxed, uniform, clean manner?"
"I should have bought a fucking muzzle for that trap of yours," stated the man, and his voice was becoming more agitated by the second. "You know what I'm here for, and you might as well just hand it over now and save us both a lot of trouble."
"My common sense is screaming that you're just going to shoot me anyway."
"WHERE ARE THE FUCKING CODES?"
Oops, looks like I just hit the end of his patience. It was always the same for every thug with a gun; push the right (or even wrong) buttons for about, say, five minutes, and you'd get them angrier than a rhino spotting a couple of rowdy tourists. Guess I shouldn't just keep playing games with this particular fellow any longer.
…but maybe I could survive another minute of chatter.
"Now, didn't your mother teach you manners?" I said, my mocking lacking any subtlety. "What's the magic word?"
The pistol only dug deeper into my neck, and I have to say, it was actually starting to sting a bit. Soon, I'd be the one getting severely annoyed, and things wouldn't get pretty after that switch being thrown. My body slumped a bit, giving the false expression of being finally defeated, and my hand started reaching for the pocket of my jacket.
"Alright, alright, you win," I sighed. "Here's your prize for intimidating the wittle man."
My hand emerged with a sizable envelope, and with a meager flick of the wrist, I let it fall behind me to the roof of the building, the yellowish package flipping once or twice before landing. Immediately, the man who supposedly had the higher control of the situation bent to pick it up, his gun wavering for a slight moment. A bad move.
A very bad move.
Holding an expression that could almost make you believe I was bored, my foot jabbed back right into the bent man's face. He gave a loud grunt at my back kick (and one that would have made a mule proud), his body teetering back a bit, his face clenched in pain. It wasn't long before he was recovering, though, and already he was aiming to kill with his little toy, blurred eyes searching for me.
However, I was not there. In fact, he hadn't even heard me slip right around him, hands outstretched as they came striking down on the sides of his head. My 'kidnapper' was instantly dazed, his hands darting up to his ears, and I could already imagine the horrid ringing he was probably experiencing. I allowed a small chuckle than, eying the gun that was just being waved around like a toy sword in his hand.
"What a pity," I said, pondering if even if he could hear me, my hand dashing over and grasping the arm that held the gun. "You got the honor tonight for actually keeping me at gunpoint for more than five minutes!"
I jerked the limb back behind him, and he gave a gasp of pain, his hand loosening. I snatched the gun from his grip, the metal feeling comfortable in my hand.
"But… you get a low grade on steady competence."
My booted foot rose, slamming into his back, making him stagger forward towards the edge of the rooftop.
He began to beg. They always beg.
"Wait, please don't man, I didn't mean-"
I aimed without much of a destination for the bullet, pulling the trigger, and a burst of blood erupted from his shoulder. The thug gave a scream that time, grasping at the new wound.
"Yes, yes, just like I didn't mean to make you cry like a pansy," I remarked a bit more coldly than before.
"What are you even going to-"
I shot again, this time in the other shoulder, and now he was slumping forward, two streams of blood running down his back and arms.
"Oh, just repaying the favor of what you could have done. Actually, you just should have finished the job the minute you found me."
Two more shots, two more bursts of light and sound, and two more holes gaping out of the guy's lower back. I almost began to feel sorry for him… but then I remember what he was planning to do anyway. Oh, how the tables have turned.
He's heaving breaths now, somehow still conscious, bent over like a dying man (wait, he was), and I take a step forward, the gun having now served its purpose.
"Say hello to ol' Lucifer, will ya?"
I slam home another kick, and there isn't any resistance as he flips over the edge. I don't even watch him fall. In fact, I just turn nonchalantly and begin to stroll away. I know the drop will kill him before any of those wounds would, and I don't need to witness the show for myself.
Stuffing the gun into my jacket and giving an uncaring glance to the forgotten envelope (it was empty anyway), I headed for the stairs, another man's blood on my hands and another pistol in my possession. Already, I hear the screams of the people below, and soon enough, the sirens will follow.