Snippets

Friendly Assassin

"Mull-"

"If you aren't out of here in five seconds, I'm calling the police on your disgusting mercenary ass!" Ouch. That one actually hurt. Rare, that was, when words actually managed to register with my feelings. Still, even though I could tell that his threats were true, I didn't move a muscle.

"One!"

"C'mon Mull, will you just liste-"

"Two!"

"I'll tell you the truth if you just shut it!"

"Three!"

"Andrew Mulligan you listen here-"

"Four!"

Fed up with his antics, I pulled out my pistol and cocked it, pointing it straight at his heart. "Will you please sit down and shut the hell up so I can tell you what I really do?! That's what you want, isn't it?"

"What I want is to see you behind bars, Zarria Reed!"

I rolled my eyes. Enough was enough. Tiredly, I said, "For Pete's sake Mull, put the stupid phone down."

"Why?" I sighed as he lowered it slightly, obviously interested at my change of voice.

"You'll regret it if you don't." He stared at me warily for a moment longer, then mumbled, "Put the gun away and I'll hear you out."

I shrugged. "Fair enough." I put the gun on the table beside the sofa and plopped down, noticing with more than a fair amount of satisfaction that he sat down too, looking relaxed and curious. Now for the slightly difficult part.

"Go on, tell me then. What's this big secret of yours?" Hostility oozed out of his voice, but I knew that he would come to terms with my occupation soon enough. He was easily persuaded, especially by people he knew, a category that sadly, for him, included me.

"I told you before that I am a murderer, but I am not dangerous. I didn't lie to you, because as you'll recall-"

"-every word that comes out of your mouth is genuine, otherwise you wouldn't waste your time and breath on speaking them, yes I know, you've told me that a thousand times."

"Precisely. Now, the question is, how is that possible? Well, I don't know if I should tell you, it could ruin my whole operating system..."

"Zarria, c'mon, will you just tell me already? You sure do have a flair for dramatics." I gave him a blank stare.

"No, I honestly don't know if I should tell you or not. It could quite literally cost me my life."

"You've come this far, why quit now?"

"Excellent question, why indeed. So, I think I've made up my mind: I'm going to tell you what I really do for a living."

"Oh finally. I'm just bursting with curiosity." He rolled his eyes.

"You know I don't appreciate sarcasm, Mull, I can't really process it well, so do shut up."

"You also don't process emotions well either," he muttered, and I knew enough about insults to kick his shin.

"Of course I do, I just have a limited range of emotions, unlike you regular people, who seem to have infinite quantities of whatever the hell you want to feel like. It must be terrifying to exist in a world with so many possibilities, so many ways to live your life."

"Yes, yes, we all know you've only got around four emotions, and major problems with empathizing and connecting with other people. But when are you going to tell me about your bloody profession?" I smiled. He was getting better at staying on topic. He was learning. He gave me what I thought was an angry look.