Part One
Part Two
But nothing happened. No shot, no click of the hammer. Just silence, broken only by the intermittent sobs coming from the direction of the Chinese businessman. Legitimate or not, it doesn't take much more than the implication of death to bring even the toughest man to his knees. It also became readily apparent that he had just wet himself. Sure, it's understandable given what he just went though but, seriously, that's just gross.
I feel the pressure on my temple decrease, the muzzle of the gun being slowly drawn away. I turn my head until Lara is within my peripheral vision and I give a questioning "Why am I not dead yet?" look with my eyes. She pauses, staring all the while, before giving a cryptic reply.
"I don't have to kill you. You'll soon be dead without my help."
Ok, so maybe it wasn't all that cryptic. I open my mouth to question further but she continues her explanation without my needing to ask.
"It's the red pill. The one you took in the parking lot. What your stupid, drug-addled brain thought was another journey down the high road was actually a deadly nerve toxin. From Boliva if I'm not mistaken."
"Boliva makes nerve toxins?" I question.
"Does it matter?" I guess it didn't really. I just hate it when people answer my questions with another question. "I have the only antidote, something I was willing to provide had you completed your simple task. I thought that I sensed hesitation earlier in the car but I figured that I should wait and see how it all played out. It would seem that my senses are once again correct."
With barely a glance, she turns and fires. The sobbing stopped. I didn't even have to look to know that Han was dead. I guess he had what was coming to him, which is hard to say because I didn't really know him or what he did wrong. It's all I can do to stumble three feet and slump into the closest chair. Time and space seem suspended at this point, like some high school kid who skipped detention one too many times. The room is spinning out of control, a bad roller coaster which I'm not sure that I am tall enough to ride on. I'm ready to vomit. The only thing saving me is the butt of Lara's gun crashing towards my head.
Blackness.
That was three months ago and the reason I woke up this morning in a cold sweat. At least I think it's sweat. Hang on, let me check. Yep, just sweat. Thank God. I didn't need a repeat of last week. After that fateful night, I spent about a week in jail while the cops sorted everything out. I guess it's pretty fantastical to go from being covered in war paint, dancing in the street, to being at some warehouse while a redhead goes crazy over a drug deal gone south. I didn't know what else to tell the detectives. I wasn't going to lie. I'm not a good liar. I figured that if I stuck to the truth, everything would work itself out in the end.
It did, I suppose. I made some new friends in jail, none of them very nice people. After my release, I couldn't afford to pay my rent so I started hanging around the methadone clinic selling ballon animals for a dollar. I floated in and out jobs over the next month. Not so much because of the toxin or my uncontrollable, narcissistic rage, but it seems like the need for flea circus trainers is dwindling to extinction. So I get by performing the odd magic or card trick to tourists, stealing what food I need from small children and homeless midgets.
At least I'm not dead yet. I'm not sure what that toxin was supposed to do or when it was supposed to kill me but all I've gotten so far is heartburn and a bad case of gas. Kind of a letdown. I mean, once you really think that you're going to die, it'd just be nice to get it over with. A week or so ago I came to the decision that if I was going to get my life back on track, I needed answers. I needed to find Lara. Before this whole mess started, I used to be quite the Private Dick. Well, maybe just a dick, but I could still put two and two together.
I stopped the drinking and the drugs, at least during working hours, and I started canvassing the streets looking for anyone who might have information on Lara (or "Carmen" as Han called her). The first lead I had found me talking with an informant in a dark alley. Perhaps if it had been daylight outside, I would have seen the ass-kicking coming. Probably not though. My vision isn't what it used to be. Robbed and battered, I had little choice but to return back to the office and re-think my plan. My office, strategically located in my parent's basement, was as good a place as any to regroup. Have you ever tried taking a shower after you've gotten the crap kicked out of you? Not easy.
Drying off, my cell phone begins to ring. I hurriedly throw myself into a robe, something about not answering the phone while naked. "Hello?" I say, my jaw still sore from the unexpected pummeling.
"I hear you've been looking for me." came the reply. And I knew exactly who it was.
To be continued...
Part Two
But nothing happened. No shot, no click of the hammer. Just silence, broken only by the intermittent sobs coming from the direction of the Chinese businessman. Legitimate or not, it doesn't take much more than the implication of death to bring even the toughest man to his knees. It also became readily apparent that he had just wet himself. Sure, it's understandable given what he just went though but, seriously, that's just gross.
I feel the pressure on my temple decrease, the muzzle of the gun being slowly drawn away. I turn my head until Lara is within my peripheral vision and I give a questioning "Why am I not dead yet?" look with my eyes. She pauses, staring all the while, before giving a cryptic reply.
"I don't have to kill you. You'll soon be dead without my help."
Ok, so maybe it wasn't all that cryptic. I open my mouth to question further but she continues her explanation without my needing to ask.
"It's the red pill. The one you took in the parking lot. What your stupid, drug-addled brain thought was another journey down the high road was actually a deadly nerve toxin. From Boliva if I'm not mistaken."
"Boliva makes nerve toxins?" I question.
"Does it matter?" I guess it didn't really. I just hate it when people answer my questions with another question. "I have the only antidote, something I was willing to provide had you completed your simple task. I thought that I sensed hesitation earlier in the car but I figured that I should wait and see how it all played out. It would seem that my senses are once again correct."
With barely a glance, she turns and fires. The sobbing stopped. I didn't even have to look to know that Han was dead. I guess he had what was coming to him, which is hard to say because I didn't really know him or what he did wrong. It's all I can do to stumble three feet and slump into the closest chair. Time and space seem suspended at this point, like some high school kid who skipped detention one too many times. The room is spinning out of control, a bad roller coaster which I'm not sure that I am tall enough to ride on. I'm ready to vomit. The only thing saving me is the butt of Lara's gun crashing towards my head.
Blackness.
That was three months ago and the reason I woke up this morning in a cold sweat. At least I think it's sweat. Hang on, let me check. Yep, just sweat. Thank God. I didn't need a repeat of last week. After that fateful night, I spent about a week in jail while the cops sorted everything out. I guess it's pretty fantastical to go from being covered in war paint, dancing in the street, to being at some warehouse while a redhead goes crazy over a drug deal gone south. I didn't know what else to tell the detectives. I wasn't going to lie. I'm not a good liar. I figured that if I stuck to the truth, everything would work itself out in the end.
It did, I suppose. I made some new friends in jail, none of them very nice people. After my release, I couldn't afford to pay my rent so I started hanging around the methadone clinic selling ballon animals for a dollar. I floated in and out jobs over the next month. Not so much because of the toxin or my uncontrollable, narcissistic rage, but it seems like the need for flea circus trainers is dwindling to extinction. So I get by performing the odd magic or card trick to tourists, stealing what food I need from small children and homeless midgets.
At least I'm not dead yet. I'm not sure what that toxin was supposed to do or when it was supposed to kill me but all I've gotten so far is heartburn and a bad case of gas. Kind of a letdown. I mean, once you really think that you're going to die, it'd just be nice to get it over with. A week or so ago I came to the decision that if I was going to get my life back on track, I needed answers. I needed to find Lara. Before this whole mess started, I used to be quite the Private Dick. Well, maybe just a dick, but I could still put two and two together.
I stopped the drinking and the drugs, at least during working hours, and I started canvassing the streets looking for anyone who might have information on Lara (or "Carmen" as Han called her). The first lead I had found me talking with an informant in a dark alley. Perhaps if it had been daylight outside, I would have seen the ass-kicking coming. Probably not though. My vision isn't what it used to be. Robbed and battered, I had little choice but to return back to the office and re-think my plan. My office, strategically located in my parent's basement, was as good a place as any to regroup. Have you ever tried taking a shower after you've gotten the crap kicked out of you? Not easy.
Drying off, my cell phone begins to ring. I hurriedly throw myself into a robe, something about not answering the phone while naked. "Hello?" I say, my jaw still sore from the unexpected pummeling.
"I hear you've been looking for me." came the reply. And I knew exactly who it was.
To be continued...
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