Two Left

Cordite coils up and finds its way to my nose. The sharp smell brings me back to the moment, snapping me out of the daydream I was having.

It was nice.

I hadn't just shot someone.

But the smell of the gun brought me back to the real world, the world where things were dirty and dark, where life was cheap and happiness was a dream.

The real world. You know. The one that sucks.

I flipped open my revolver. Two shots left. I close it, and holster it again, close to my heart. I walk over and look down at the poor bastard that got on the wrong side of my bullet. Twenty two, tops. A kid.

I don't have enough to drink in the office.

I pick up his piece. He won't be needing it. A decent automatic little thing. I pop the magazine, and do a quick check. It's got more than two bullets at least. I load it again.

I frisk the body. He's got a key in one front pocket, a wallet in the other. I pocket the key, and check the wallet. Chester Maxwell. I let it drop on his chest, and stand up. A quick scan of the room, nothing else important catches my eye. It's as dismal as when I first arrived, a crumbling office with peeling paint and the smell of ruin.

I move to the door, but stop and turn around. I look down at the kid.

"Uhh... Sorry, Chester." I mumble. Yeah. Whatever. Kid knew what he was doing. Shoulda known better. Right.

The key I got off the body fits in the lock on the door, and I swing it open. My new pistol introduces me to the room first.

No goons this time. Just the target.

A little girl, Stacey Mculloch. Five years old. Heir to the empire, when she's old enough. She's got a colouring book with almost as many colours of crayon as the walls have of mold. She looks up at me and smiles.

"You're new." She says pleasantly.

"I'm new. Ready to go home kid?" I ask, quickly stowing the gun and offering my hand.

She recoils a bit at that. "You're hurt!"

I look down at my hand, it's covered in blood. Right. The kid. I wipe it on my pants quickly.

"Oh, no... just..." Damn I hate this. "It's uh... not mine. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh." She looks at me a little more cautiously now. She stand up, and grabs something from under the bed before she comes over.

I pick her up with one arm, and we head out. She hands me what she grabbed from under the bed. It's a band-aid.

"Just in case." She says, and smiles.

I take it, and nod. A smile cracks my lips.

Feels weird.

But I like it.

I make sure to avoid Chester on our way out.

In That Moment

Belloch sat on the floor, back pressed up against the cold wall behind him where he had slumped. The pistol was still hot in his hands, a faint trail of cordite wisping towards the ceiling, though that was disappearing now too.

The shaking in his hands wasn't.

"Maybe the next one will be more cooperative, huh?" Kereth said, almost jovially, as he untied the body from the chair where it had fallen.

"Yes." Belloch responded robotically. He looked down at his hands. They hurt. He tried to relax them, but they wouldn't obey.

Kereth hefted the body easily onto his shoulder, and headed out the door. He turned back to speak once more.

"Better get ready, we got lots of interviews to do. On your feet, soldier." The colossal man smiled, and backed out the door.

"Yes."

Belloch was alone in the room, save for the gun. The gun was still clutched in his hand, clasped like he would never be able to let go. He stared at it dumbly.

He lifted his arm, and dropped the pistol beside him. It clattered loudly on the ceramic floor.

But even though it sat beside him, and he could see it, it was still in his hands.

It was forever in his hands, in that moment.

Always.

Big Day

I straighten my tie, a simple red unpatterned affair. It pops nicely with my outfit, the rest of which is a fairly traditional black and white affair. Ready for work. A big day.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks.

"No." I reply, sounding only a little defeated. I'm tired of this conversation. Tired of everything. "I can't say that I'm sure. But you've convinced me. I don't really see any other options."

"I just want you to be sharp out there. Doubts are going to make you look bad."

I smirk. Not really something I'm concerned about. But he knows that. He knows everything about me. That's how he was able to convince me. I never really stood a chance.

"I'll be sure. Confidence is key, right?" I turn to him and smile. He smiles back.

"You got it. Hey," He shakes my hand by the door. It's a firm, but not hard handshake. A gesture of support, excellently crafted. He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "You'll do great. I believe in you. Go get 'em."

He puts the gun in my hand, and the demon fades out of my sight.

I breathe deeply. I'm sure.

Big day.

Two Shy

The coffee steamed in front of them, it would be too hot to drink for some time still.  The coffee shop's vintage table was dotted with ancient rings of similar cups from the last dozen years.  No part of Stanley's attention was invested in either the coffee or the decor, however.  Stanley was watching the door.

Martha was pointedly looking at the steaming cups, on the other hand.

"They changed the design." She said, lifting her paper cup up between them.

"Hmm?"

"They changed the design, on the disposable cup.  It used to have fourteen swirls from the top to bottom, now it has twelve." She indicated to her partner across the table.

"Hm." Stanely rarely admitted that he was envious of Martha's attention to detail. And not once did he ever mention it to her. But it was a remarkable gift, to be sure. And very, very helpful in their line of work.

"Why do you think they changed it?" She asked.

"Save on ink, maybe. Less to print."

"Hm.  But it probably cost them more to re-design it than they'll save on the new ones."

"Perhaps." Stanley admitted, tilting his head slightly in agreement. The door opened, and his body became alert with lightning speed, belied in no way by his outward appearance.  In fact, he moved not at all, save for the immediate dilation of his pupils as they locked on to the person entering the coffee house. "A discussion for another time, I'm afraid Martha. Our job is here."

Martha didn't turn to see, she knew what she would find. The dossier had been quite explicit, and Stanley was rarely wrong.  She slipped her gun out of her purse, and rested it on her lap.

"Very good," She said. "I was afraid if we had to wait much longer we'd have to actually drink some of this god-awful coffee."