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The brilliant supernova incinerating my eyesight didn’t allow me to see much more than the pistol. It was enough that I knew I was in danger, but not nearly enough to get to grips with the rest of the situation. Before I could even think about reacting to the threat, I needed to know who else was in the room, where they were, what they had for weapons, that sort of thing. If I moved too soon, the only person who was going to get killed was me. And frankly, I kinda liked me the way I was.
“You guys really take room service seriously, huh?”
There was a pause and then the briefest chuckle that spilled over into a hearty laugh. The light switched off and I blinked a few times.
In front of me sat a huge man the color of deepest night. He looked like a living shadow with only a swath of brilliant white teeth breaking the smooth, gleaming skin of his face.
More importantly than his smile was the fact that the Colt 1911 lowered. “I was told you have a decent sense of humor.”
“Glad to know my reputation precedes me.” I frowned. “I guess.” I hadn’t been active all that long. But then again, on my first trip overseas when I apprenticed under Zero, I had my mug shot snapped five times by the East German Stasi before I even left the airport. Apparently, someone was compiling a dossier on me. Swell.
“I expected you to be a little bit more aware, however. The fact I was able to break into your room, take a seat, and catch you sleeping has me a bit concerned about your future.”
I nodded in the direction of the door. “Have you seen those locks? They wouldn’t stop a feather from breaking in.”
“Even still, for a Fixer, I must say I’m somewhat disappointed.”
His English was tinged with a British accent, but that wasn’t surprising in this part of the world. I started to say something about expectations when a new voice cut through the air...
© 2010 by Jon F. Merz All rights reserved
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