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Cooler than a body on ice Thad sits back in his leather recliner. He knows what's next and has no qualms. He had been planning on it.
The door swings open. Aiden's gun drawn, he quickly waves it side to side before kicking the door close behind him. Thad hasn't moved an inch.
“Mister Cobb,” came from Thad's mouth, drawn-out in that James Bond villain way.
“Thad,” Aiden replies in cold-hearted hatred.
Aiden calmly keeps the gun pointed at Thad as he walks in front of the large oak desk. Everything seems nice and tidy and Thad doesn't making any moves. The fact he isn't moving at all should have been a red flag for Aiden, but he's past giving a shit.
“Do you think you're the only motherfucker to point a piece at me?”
“No.” A moment of pause. “But I will be the last.”
Something is pinging him in the back of his mind but he buries it. Time for answers...
“Would you care for a drink, Aiden?”
No response. He keeps the gun point-blank on Thad's head.
“Mind if I have one?”
“What are you? Some kind of fuckin' Bond villain?”
Thad shrugs. “If I'm gonna go, might as well have me some Scotch.”
“Fuck that. Tell me what I want to know and don't dick around with the details.”
Breathing in heavy, Thad only replies, “No.”
Aiden moves closer, pressing against the desk. “Why?”
“It's all over now, Aiden.”
“No it's not. Tell me why the fuck the disc is so important.” He needs to know.
“It contains a movie that can't be found in the United States. I'm going to make copies of it and distribute them across the Internet.”
“Bullshit.” Aiden stands his ground.
“The movie contains the top secret foreign sites that when I offer it to the CIA, I can broker a deal.”
“Still bullshit, Thad.”
“I'm a fan of the movies like you're old buddy... what was his name? Steven Hitchcock? Face blown off and everything. Terrible way to go.” Thad tries being melodramatic, shaking his head side-to-side.
Aiden leans in further. “Bull shit, fucker.”
“How about it's my movie and I want it back?”
Staring in rage. Aiden feels his blood racing, turning cold. No attention is being paid to the muffled footsteps behind.
“What?” comes out as a growl.
The revolver's cold muzzle presses against the back of his neck. He slowly takes a step back.
He “pulled a Hickock.” When you have one of those moments where you do something against your better judgment, or you veer from routine and something bad is destined to happen, you have just pulled a Hickock. And that's what's happening here.
“You know Cory, right? Your pal Dennis's nephew?”
Cory stands behind Aiden, holding the pistol firmly against his neck. He wants to make this happen.
Aiden makes a quick calculation: how blood-cold is Cory? Any fuckhead can pull a trigger but can he do it on command? He breathes in for a moment. Relax. Change the strategy.
“So you wanted in. Right Cory?” Aiden talks straight into Thad is if he talking to him.
Cory keeps his mouth shut. Aiden can tell that he wants to tell the motherfucker off; give the fuckwad a taste of his own medicine. Who was he to humiliate him?
“Have you ever killed someone, Cory? Not with a group of friends or playing some bullshit video game. For real. Have you?”
Thad stares up at Aiden and watches him deliver the speech.
“You pull the trigger. The gun goes off. There's a loud bang. My brains, and maybe Thad's, fly everywhere. And a moment later when you realized what you've done, you're going to throw up. You'll lose your cookies right there on Thad's expensive rug under your feet.”
“Give me the DVD, Aiden.”
Cory presses the pistol harder into Aiden's neck. Aiden stiffens.
“Do it, Cory.” Aiden says. “If you don't kill me, he'll kill you and trust me, he's not one to take someone not obeying orders lightly. Pull the trigger. It's easy.”
“Give him the DVD. Aiden.” Cory sounds unsure about killing him.
“No. I'm dead either way.”
The three are frozen in a moment in time, locked in place. One can feel the temperature drop.
Everything happens fast, like a light-speed frenetic ADD shaky-cam movie action sequence. Aiden jabs his elbow and spins to the left, ducking down. Cory fires. Thad tries ducking but the bullet rips through his skull quickly halting that idea. Blood splatters Cory's face. Thad's gray matter splats painting hanging behind him and his body falls to the ground.
Aiden gets to his feet and checks for blood on his clothing. Under the low-lighting of the room he can't immediately spot anything; he'll have to check later. He reaches into his pocket and pulls a white handkerchief, offering it to Cory.
Cory lowers the weapon and sees what he's done. The pistol is still smoking; that cannon-boom repercussion feeling still shaking him inside. Aiden forces the handkerchief into Cory's other hand.
Nothing for Aiden to say. No comment. He glances over at Cory who looks three sheets from the tenth stage of white. Calmly, Aiden paces toward the door.
Cory turns his head and the contents of his stomach erupt onto the floor. He feels a burning sensation in his mouth as he thinks back to what Aiden said earlier.
Aiden stops, his focus still on the door. “That's a fuckin' ten-thousand dollar rug.” He reachs the threshold and stops again. “I don't know if the police can dust for vomit, but you might want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
Cory takes a few steps back, bumps into the wall, and slumps down to the floor. He places the pistol on the ground before shoving it away from him.
Aiden makes it to the staircase. It's time to tie up the loose ends.