MobileRead Forums - View Single Post - Silliness The Case of the Rock and the Red, Decision at Dawn

Greg Anos · 10-26-2010, 08:40 PM

Tuesday evening and I was workin' overtime. Queen Zelda had challenged me to find a keg of Pearl in her Royal Database. A harmless game that helped her take the pressure off her Royal duties. When I found it and replaced the entry with a .22 bullet picture, she'd send me the keg. I did the same thing with her favorite perfume.

I had just finished going through Hugo and Lefty's home (the sock drawer inventory), when the inner office door opened. Suddenly, three eyes were peerin' at me. I don't mind eyes, but one of them was the barrel of a .45 auto with it's ear back. Not particularly friendly.

The gent holding the John Roscoe didn't add to my ease. He was maybe 17, and obviously was not a seasoned campaigner. That meant he might do anything, lacking the experience to know that doing nothing was usually the best answer.

"Betcha think this is a prop." the punk kid said.

"Anybody who makes that bet doesn't live to see his next birthday."

"Just in case you have doubts." He pops out a couple of rounds into the wall over my head.

I did have doubts about his intelligence, but I decided not to voice them.

I did say, "You obviously came for a reason. Would you care to sit down and tell me how I can help you?" All while making no movements at all.

The young punk sprawled in the guest chair. "Don't make any sudden moves."

"Can I make a slow move to turn and face you? I'll keep my hands nice and level."

The punk said, "Sure, nice and slow."

I did so, keeping hands nice and level. And my feet at the foot controls under the desk. My left foot turned them on and the right on hit the squirt button. In 30 second, the punk and the chair he was sittin' in were gonna become inseparable friends. My hand was near the Nolan Ryan Baseball I keep on the desk. I had gotten it from his resturant down at Choke Canyon, shortly after he retired from pitchin'.

"What kinda baseball is that?"

"A souvenir from Nolan Ryan back when he was pitchin'."

"Who's Nolan Ryan?"

"He holds the career strikeout record, and the most no hitters by a pitcher."

About that time, Mrs. Slocum lets out a squall in the hall. She must have tripped somebody in the hall. Probably his backup.

He turned his head and gun both. That was just too good an opportunity for me to turn down. I grabbed the baseball and threw it at the gun hand. Bingo! Right on the old knuckle!

The gun went flying. The punk tried to get up and fell over with the chair still attached to his backside. The joys of SuperGlue.

I was over the desk and kicking the gun under the couch before he could get organized.

He had managed to turn himself face up and was cussing a loud blue streak.

"Shut your trap, before I shut it for you!" I yelled, waving my best kickin' leg for emphasis.

"You'll pay for this!"

"Yep, I shure will. that chair cost $200 to re-upholster and another 10 buck to patch the holes in the wall. Let me tend to your buddy out in the hall and I'll get back to you. Don't go away."

I went back to my desk, got my silencered .22 and the speedloader of wadcutters. and went to the inner door. I saw a shadow at the door, and hoped the CB caps already in it would act like a typical BB gun, and just leave a hole, rather that shattering the door glass. I didn't want to spend another $500 on top of all the other expenses tonight. Besides, Mindy would complain in the morning about the mess...

So I took careful aim a let one go at the guy outside the door, hopefully close enough to loosen his sphincters without havin' to write up a police report...

The guy stopped, I opened the door to see who was out there...

10-26-2010, 08:40 PM	#14
Greg Anos Grand Sorcerer Posts: 11,532 Karma: 37057604 Join Date: Jan 2008 Device: Pocketbook	Tuesday evening and I was workin' overtime. Queen Zelda had challenged me to find a keg of Pearl in her Royal Database. A harmless game that helped her take the pressure off her Royal duties. When I found it and replaced the entry with a .22 bullet picture, she'd send me the keg. I did the same thing with her favorite perfume. I had just finished going through Hugo and Lefty's home (the sock drawer inventory), when the inner office door opened. Suddenly, three eyes were peerin' at me. I don't mind eyes, but one of them was the barrel of a .45 auto with it's ear back. Not particularly friendly. The gent holding the John Roscoe didn't add to my ease. He was maybe 17, and obviously was not a seasoned campaigner. That meant he might do anything, lacking the experience to know that doing nothing was usually the best answer. "Betcha think this is a prop." the punk kid said. "Anybody who makes that bet doesn't live to see his next birthday." "Just in case you have doubts." He pops out a couple of rounds into the wall over my head. I did have doubts about his intelligence, but I decided not to voice them. I did say, "You obviously came for a reason. Would you care to sit down and tell me how I can help you?" All while making no movements at all. The young punk sprawled in the guest chair. "Don't make any sudden moves." "Can I make a slow move to turn and face you? I'll keep my hands nice and level." The punk said, "Sure, nice and slow." I did so, keeping hands nice and level. And my feet at the foot controls under the desk. My left foot turned them on and the right on hit the squirt button. In 30 second, the punk and the chair he was sittin' in were gonna become inseparable friends. My hand was near the Nolan Ryan Baseball I keep on the desk. I had gotten it from his resturant down at Choke Canyon, shortly after he retired from pitchin'. "What kinda baseball is that?" "A souvenir from Nolan Ryan back when he was pitchin'." "Who's Nolan Ryan?" "He holds the career strikeout record, and the most no hitters by a pitcher." About that time, Mrs. Slocum lets out a squall in the hall. She must have tripped somebody in the hall. Probably his backup. He turned his head and gun both. That was just too good an opportunity for me to turn down. I grabbed the baseball and threw it at the gun hand. Bingo! Right on the old knuckle! The gun went flying. The punk tried to get up and fell over with the chair still attached to his backside. The joys of SuperGlue. I was over the desk and kicking the gun under the couch before he could get organized. He had managed to turn himself face up and was cussing a loud blue streak. "Shut your trap, before I shut it for you!" I yelled, waving my best kickin' leg for emphasis. "You'll pay for this!" "Yep, I shure will. that chair cost $200 to re-upholster and another 10 buck to patch the holes in the wall. Let me tend to your buddy out in the hall and I'll get back to you. Don't go away." I went back to my desk, got my silencered .22 and the speedloader of wadcutters. and went to the inner door. I saw a shadow at the door, and hoped the CB caps already in it would act like a typical BB gun, and just leave a hole, rather that shattering the door glass. I didn't want to spend another $500 on top of all the other expenses tonight. Besides, Mindy would complain in the morning about the mess... So I took careful aim a let one go at the guy outside the door, hopefully close enough to loosen his sphincters without havin' to write up a police report... The guy stopped, I opened the door to see who was out there... Last edited by Greg Anos; 10-26-2010 at 08:43 PM.