Licensed Murder

[ 14 ] .---- ....-

And Licensed Murder adopts a more serious tone... Hehe watch out for the plot twist... :D

'Time' by Hans Zimmer on the side for some nice background music... Man, I love the Inception sountrack.... Oooo soooo goood....

Please vote and comment as per usual :) I really appreciate your support, I really do :) Dedicated to the beautiful horse @ElCaballo for plucking up the courage to post her first book, Of Quills and Quarts, please check it out! xoxo General Flopsy (>.<)y

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Ditching mafia-boy at the entrance of the ball-room, I walked slowly back to the cinema with the stage.

‘Miss Iris Row please make your way to the back of the stage, I need to have a word with you’ Nugget chick’s voice rung clear in my ears. This is gonna get nasty…

Upon entering into the room, I immediately turned around and closed the doors. Spying the door that read ‘THRU TO BACKSTAGE’, I stalked cautiously towards it, my head swivelling around in paranoia, scanning across the rows of seats for a surprise attack.

And I was met with a very pleasant surprise as I swung the door inwards.

“YOU BITCH!” Her balled fist came hurtling towards my face and clocked smack bang in the middle of my face. Yup, I probably deserved that…

I tumbled backwards, my head smashing against the closed door with a ‘bang’. I held out my hands defensively and motioned for her to stop. Guess she doesn’t know what it means.

Her knee flew up to my face as I doubled over, hitting me square on the nose. Thick red liquid oozed out from my nose and began its way slowly down my face. My beautiful suit!

“Are we done with revenge?” I asked squeakily, pinching the bridge of my nose.

She just stared at me, breathing so deeply I thought I might get swept up into vast black hole that is her nostril. After waving her slender middle finger at my face, she turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor resembling a moody teenage chicken.

Sniffing blood back into my nose, I decided that I’d rather explore these corridors as opposed to engaging in small talk with a bunch of arrogant assassins. And trying to explain why I have blood all over my face, and that explanation being that a girl whom I offered nuggets seasoned with drugs to had taken her revenge.

After staining everything within a 1 meter radius in an effort to wipe the blood off my face, I began my way down the halls. Cyanide Agency headquarters, unlike my agency’s, was situated above ground in a remote-ish sort of location. I walked in awe as I noted the minute details in the corridors and the rooms in which they contained. Damn, they’re rich. Everything down to the door knobs and locks were polished and gleaming, not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere.

My feet stopped their involuntary movement as I came across an ajar door with hushed voices coming from it. Not meaning to be particularly intrusive, I leant against the wall and crouched on to my knees, my eyes closed whilst trying to single out a voice.

As the voices became clearer with more concentration, I singled out a particular voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

I listened for a second, processing the tone and pitch of the voice.

My eyes flew open.

 Mafia-boy.

“Just do a stab and run again” A hushed deep voice said.

“Too obvious” It was mafia-boy this time.

“That’s not the prob-“ Suddenly I heard the slap of a human hand against a cheek. My knees pushed my body into an upright position out of habit. But my feet were rooted to the ground.

“Someone’s here” A hoarse voice said.

“Impossible” The deep voice spoke.

“Let’s just get this sorted out and go” It was mafia-boy again.

“Fine. Back to what I was saying, that’s not the problem. Escaping, that’s what is”

“Traffic-light” Mafia-boy spoke.

A switch flicked in my brain, completing the circuit.

Stab and run. Traffic-light.

***

My mind flicked back to that eventful night.

After thrusting the knife into my arm, he ran for the door, pulling it open in one powerful jerk. Groaning, I pulled the knife out as painlessly as I could and raced out the door behind him, a trail of blood in my wake.

I chased him three quarters of the way down the small suburban street before the extreme loss of blood finally took its toll. My knees sunk to the ground, my left hand desperately clutching the open gash on my right arm so as to decrease the flow of blood.

Endure.

Mustering up all the energy left in my slowly dying body, I got to my feet and continued my struggle up the street. Suddenly, the sound of cars crashing resonated across the street. I spotted an intersection with traffic-lights up ahead. The man with the cyanide tattoo must have run across.

I ran to the lights as fast as my weak body could run, all the while checking for witnesses.

My eyes scanned across the scene. The front ends of car were mashed up together, but there was no sign of a man. Or blood.

Something’s wrong.

I walked cautiously into the middle of the street, pulling my black hoodie up to cover my face.

I turned a full 360 in order to get a glimpse of an escaping body. That when I saw it.

Sudden realisation hit me as my eyes processed the colour of the lights.

Green.Green.Green

I was fooled. He got away. I was conned.

***

My hand flew to cover my mouth as I stifled a gasp.

Why didn’t I see this before?