((Sorry for the delay on this one. Some computer issues combined with scheduling issues (for getting NekoShogun to read this–as of now, he still hasn’t read it so it may be of below-average quality) got in the way. EDIT AS OF JANUARY 11TH: Gak, I keep forgetting that I put these in bold. Fixed!))
Avery snapped his head towards the voice–it came from his left, in the open doorway to his bedroom. Standing in that doorway was a large man, just barely visible in the scant light from a lamp to the right of Avery’s couch. The man’s skin appeared yellow in the glow–
It does not!
–and his long, dark, disheveled hair nearly hid a gaunt face.
“And you are…?” Avery said, slowly standing up.
“Who I am is not important,” the man said, and Avery grinned.
“Of course, of course. May I ask why you’re here?”
The man shrugged. “To kill you.”
“And you haven’t already because…?”
“I like to play fair. Draw your gun–I know you have one.” The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, keeping it pointed at the ground.
“This isn’t a very efficient method of assassination,” Avery said as he pulled out his own gun, a 38 Colt Detective Special snub nose revolver.
“I haven’t lost yet.”
“But the question is, how many people have you killed?”
The man smiled lazily. “Come now, at least give me a challenging target.” The man gestured for Avery to move away.
Avery promptly stepped backwards, readying his gin—
As the man exclaimed some oath in surprise, Avery stared down at the new weight in his hand–a small shot glass, filled with what did appear to be gin.
“Damn!” Avery said before dropping the glass (it shattered against the floor, the alcohol soaking into the rug) and diving to his left just as the man fired his weapon–judging by the splintering sound, the bullet had crashed into the kitchen’s small island counter.
Avery swore again, now behind the couch. He was paralyzed a moment, entirely unsure of what to d–his entire plan had rested on shooting first, but without a weapon….
The man shot his gun again, and this time Avery heard the bullet embed itself in his couch.
What happened to my gun?!
I don’t know! I think it was… a typo!
What does that even mean? Avery paused a moment, waiting for an answer. And can you do it to his?
Footsteps now entered Avery’s ears, drawing closer. Cursing once more, he slowly stood up to face the man.
“Ah, given in, have you?”
“Right.” Avery gulped.
The man smiled, and Avery feared that smile would be the last thing he saw as the man raised his gum….
The man’s brow furrowed, and he looked down–in his right hand was a bright pink blob where there had previously been a gun.
Seizing his chance, Avery rushed forward and punched the man straight in the jaw; the man crumpled to the ground quickly, as would be expected from someone of his size.
“Right,” Avery said. “Well.” Feeling rather disoriented, he stepped past the man’s body to fetch some rope.
The man was awakening, now tied to one of Avery’s few chairs in the center of the living room. After a few more moments, the man’s eyes snapped open, appearing to survey their surroundings before resting on Avery’s face.
“What, may I ask, happened?” the man said, blinking a few times.
“You’re not allowed to ask questions at the moment.” Avery couldn’t resist a smile as the man tugged at his bonds.
The man shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“No thank you.”
“Who sent you to kill me?”
“I don’t think he’d like me to say.”
“Ah, so it’s a he?”
Avery scowled, stepping back from the man and sitting on the couch, careful to avoid the bullet hole. “I haven’t called the police yet. You can still go free.”
“I plan on it–but not through the means you’re implying.”
“For better or worse, the police trust me. We could have gotten into quite a fight before I stopped you.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a weakling, Mr. Trudge.”
“Nor am I.” Avery let this sink in before saying, “once again: who sent you?”
“I really do think you’re bluffing.”
Avery sighed. “Very well.”
Ignoring the man’s futile attempts to free himself, Avery stood up and made his way to a wall mounted phone, dialing 911.
“That’s quite a story,” Felicia said once Avery had finished telling her what happened at his apartment–sans typos. “I assume the assassin was sent by whoever is trying to frame me?”
“That’s my guess,” Avery said, taking a sip of his drink and examining the bar around him, just in case.
“You were quite lucky to survive that.”
“I doubt it–he wasn’t a very good assassin. Those bodies in your apartment weren’t very effective, either.”
“So you think…?”
“Whoever’s got it in for you is only getting started.”
Felicia grimaced. “This won’t change anything, I assume?”
“It’ll change my paycheck.”