his revolver.
Warren noticed the square bulge in the Irishman’s front pocket. I bet that’s Janet’s cell phone. Warren slipped into an almost fantasy. He saw the phone malfunction and the lithium battery burst to deliver its payload into the Irishman’s thigh. The third eye inside his mind as atrophied as it was opened without thinking about it. There was a flash of light and the Irishman cried out.
He summoned more speed than he had ever used before and far more than he could ever coax out of his torn tendons and ligaments. He picked up his laptop bag and struck the Irishman across the face with it, and then pulled the bag into a downswing. The Irishman’s hand was smashed, and the Smith and Wesson skittered across the floor. He let go of the laptop bag and its contents shattered on the floor. Warren grabbed the collar of the Irishman’s denim jacket and gave him not one but three good knees to the groin.
The Irishman went to the ground with a grunt, and Warren made a dive for his gun. He lined the Irishman’s fallen form into the sights and squeezed the trigger. Neither the trigger nor the hammer would budge. He looked down and clicked the safety off with his thumb. The Irishman got back up, and a wicked smile stretched across his face.
Warren pulled the trigger and there was nothing but a click. The Irishman gingerly walked over and gave Warren enough time to go through the cylinder twice. When the Irishman towered over him, Warren got up to brain the Irishman with his own gun. The Irishman’s hand leapt forward and engulfed the pistol, and a quick hit to Warren’s teeth with one of his Doc Martens wretched it free.
Janet thrashed in her chair and cursed herself for being brought here at the point of an empty gun. He glanced at her for a moment to remind her he’s just as dangerous without the gun. He emptied the shell casings from the cylinder into a coat pocket, and loaded five more with an autoloader. The gun was pointed at Warren long before he was aware of his surroundings again.
He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the Irishman’s smile.
“That was feckin’ brilliant!” the Irishman almost cheered, “You had your moment and you took it. Don’t feel too bad how could you have known that my gun wasn’t loaded? No one would blame you for that, and I’m not going to hold it against you – this time . Hell, I’m impressed I would have never pegged you as the type that would have it in you.” His expression darkened. The Irishman pulled a pair of handcuffs from the duffel bag on the table. He locked Warren’s right arm to his dead arm behind his back.
“I don’t know what my employer has in store for you, but you’re going there nonetheless.”
11
The next ten hours were excruciating. Not because anything horrible was done to them, except for nothing. The worst part was the Irishman forcing them into the back of his PT Cruiser at gunpoint, and how no one in the neighborhood seemed to care. Didn’t want to get involved. Warren wasn’t even convinced that they’d call the police once they got home.
In the hatchback of the car Warren could barely notice the features of the city around him. Not that he knew the city that great – it scared the shit out of him. He had every reason to be afraid of it since this was the city that produced the Irishman. It was a den of monsters. Warren wasn’t sure where they had gone, but the Irishman had driven far. Or at least he drove around the block several times to disorient them. There was even a pit stop at Wendy’s, and the Irishman ordered while scowling at them through the rear view window. Warren was barely able to see the woman at the window. She was seventeen, tops. If she notices you the bitch’ll be killed over some Biggie Fries, do you want that on your conscience?
A dagger of shame slipped into his gut. He was ashamed in himself that he was this utterly defeated by the Irishman. They were lead into a room where he
Warren noticed the square bulge in the Irishman’s front pocket. I bet that’s Janet’s cell phone. Warren slipped into an almost fantasy. He saw the phone malfunction and the lithium battery burst to deliver its payload into the Irishman’s thigh. The third eye inside his mind as atrophied as it was opened without thinking about it. There was a flash of light and the Irishman cried out.
He summoned more speed than he had ever used before and far more than he could ever coax out of his torn tendons and ligaments. He picked up his laptop bag and struck the Irishman across the face with it, and then pulled the bag into a downswing. The Irishman’s hand was smashed, and the Smith and Wesson skittered across the floor. He let go of the laptop bag and its contents shattered on the floor. Warren grabbed the collar of the Irishman’s denim jacket and gave him not one but three good knees to the groin.
The Irishman went to the ground with a grunt, and Warren made a dive for his gun. He lined the Irishman’s fallen form into the sights and squeezed the trigger. Neither the trigger nor the hammer would budge. He looked down and clicked the safety off with his thumb. The Irishman got back up, and a wicked smile stretched across his face.
Warren pulled the trigger and there was nothing but a click. The Irishman gingerly walked over and gave Warren enough time to go through the cylinder twice. When the Irishman towered over him, Warren got up to brain the Irishman with his own gun. The Irishman’s hand leapt forward and engulfed the pistol, and a quick hit to Warren’s teeth with one of his Doc Martens wretched it free.
Janet thrashed in her chair and cursed herself for being brought here at the point of an empty gun. He glanced at her for a moment to remind her he’s just as dangerous without the gun. He emptied the shell casings from the cylinder into a coat pocket, and loaded five more with an autoloader. The gun was pointed at Warren long before he was aware of his surroundings again.
He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the Irishman’s smile.
“That was feckin’ brilliant!” the Irishman almost cheered, “You had your moment and you took it. Don’t feel too bad how could you have known that my gun wasn’t loaded? No one would blame you for that, and I’m not going to hold it against you – this time . Hell, I’m impressed I would have never pegged you as the type that would have it in you.” His expression darkened. The Irishman pulled a pair of handcuffs from the duffel bag on the table. He locked Warren’s right arm to his dead arm behind his back.
“I don’t know what my employer has in store for you, but you’re going there nonetheless.”
11
The next ten hours were excruciating. Not because anything horrible was done to them, except for nothing. The worst part was the Irishman forcing them into the back of his PT Cruiser at gunpoint, and how no one in the neighborhood seemed to care. Didn’t want to get involved. Warren wasn’t even convinced that they’d call the police once they got home.
In the hatchback of the car Warren could barely notice the features of the city around him. Not that he knew the city that great – it scared the shit out of him. He had every reason to be afraid of it since this was the city that produced the Irishman. It was a den of monsters. Warren wasn’t sure where they had gone, but the Irishman had driven far. Or at least he drove around the block several times to disorient them. There was even a pit stop at Wendy’s, and the Irishman ordered while scowling at them through the rear view window. Warren was barely able to see the woman at the window. She was seventeen, tops. If she notices you the bitch’ll be killed over some Biggie Fries, do you want that on your conscience?
A dagger of shame slipped into his gut. He was ashamed in himself that he was this utterly defeated by the Irishman. They were lead into a room where he
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