“Jimmy Wright?”
Before Lance could reply he was bombarded by a punch to the nose, catching him in his lulled, half asleep state off guard and causing him to fall onto his back. The man pushed through the door and withdrew a pistol and pointed it down at him on the ground.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Some kinda misunderstanding, my name’s not Jimmy.” He paused and grabbed his nose, which had now begun to bleed. ‘Never gave me a bloody chance to respond.”
“Bullshit.”
Lance rose to his feet, “Mate I’m telling you, name’s Lance.”
“Lying will get you nowhere,” he pointed the gun directly to his face.
Lance’s tone became more anxious, “Jesus Christ mate you don’t even know me, who the hell are you to tell me my name?”
“Your name is James Robert Wright, you live on 106 Bullock Street, your landline is-.”
“Yeah where are you getting your information?”
“Tony Costello.”
Lance’s jaw dropped, attempting to hide his fear. “He didn’t supply you with a picture?”
“Gave me a basic description.”
“What’s that? Caucasian, mid-twenties, 5”11. Gee that’d be assuring that you have the right guy.”
The man walked along the hallway and peered into the nearby room. “I don’t see anyone else in this place.”
“Information is factual but it’s missing one core component.”
“Enlighten me?”
“Jimmy doesn’t live alone. I’m his goddamn roommate man.”
“How very convenient.”
“Isn’t when your day’s off to a perfectly good start then some stranger rocks up and breaks your nose, mistaking you for him!”
“Aren’t you the dramatic one?”
“Are you done here? Got the wrong guy, unjustly assaulted me, so how about you piss off.”
He grinned, “Kitten’s got claws. I’ll remind you that I have a loaded gun in your face, so I think that it’s me who decides my tenure here, what are you going to do, sue me for your own murder?”
Lance groaned and begrudgingly took a seat on the couch next to the guy.
“So tell me,” the man continued, “If you’re not Jimmy then where is he?”
“What am I married to the bloody guy! He’s not in his flat that’s for sure.”
The man took the butt of his gun and batted it against Lance’s lips.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Your disrespect. Tell me, do you have any idea where he could be at this time of day?”
“Nope, I just moved in here, probably explains why you weren’t told of my existence. Jimmy and I tend to do our own thing.”
“Do you have his number?”
Lance nodded.
“Well go ahead.”
Lance took out his mobile and quickly searched through his contacts before hitting the ‘call’ button. “It’s dialling.”
“Speaker.”
Lance pressed the speaker button and the two of them could now hear the sound of dialling then a recorded message with a young, relaxed voice on the end: “Hey this is Jimmy, unavailable right now, probably off having a fine time. Anyway if you’re desperate for me please leave your name and your number and I’ll get back to you if I feel you’re the one for me.”
“Sorry champ, looks like the man’s too busy to uphold you and Tony’s interests.”
“Leave a voice message.”
There was a beep.
“What do I say?” whispered Lance, nervously.
“Improvise, just don’t make it sound like I’m here.”
“Hey buddy,” he said into the speaker, “It’s Lance, wondering where you are bro? Any chance you could head home soon... need to talk to you about something. Anyway see ya soon.”
“What was that?”
“My message.”
“Sounded like you were his missus wanting to talk about feelings, where’s the urgency?”
“Well I had to play it subtle or he’d know what was up.”
“Would he?”
“Well I’d assume so, what’s he done?”
“That’s a matter between him, Tony and myself.”
“What exactly do you do for Tony?”
“Whatever he asks.”
“Sound like a bloody prostitute.”
The man ignored his remark, “I have to use your bathroom,” getting up and putting his gun into his coat pocket before walking down the hall.
Lance jumped up onto his feet and opened the drawer across the hall, withdrawing a revolver with an empty cartridge. “Shit,” he said, frantically searching around for his bullets case. He heard the sound of the toilet flushing and knew that the man wasn’t far away. Digging around in the bottom drawer he finally found the case, getting out a couple of bullets and shoving the case back in, worriedly jamming the bullets into the revolver cartridge, just as he heard footsteps down the hall and knew to hide it back in the cupboard.
Lance turned around swiftly to face the man as he was approaching. “Oh there you are, would you like a drink or something?”
“Sure, get me a water.”
Lance scoffed, “You only live once, what do you say to a whiskey?” he wondered over to the kitchen and picked up a bottle and two glasses. “Doesn’t matter that it’s only eleven, any time’s a fine time for whiskey.” He filled both glasses up halfway and handed one to the man.
“To life,” he said, the two of them clapping glasses. Lance winced as the scotch burnt his throat while the other man appeared to be undeterred.
Lance sighed with false relief. “Nothing like a straight whiskey, drink on the job often?”
“Whenever I can get away with it.”
“Must be relieving, ever find it difficult to get through the day?”
“What have you got me ‘on the couch’ or something?”
“Ah, getting all defensive, must be sensitive topic with you.” He reached for the bottle and poured himself a small glass. “Another drink?” without waiting for an answer he poured him another full glass. “What’s your name anyway mate?”
“Malcolm.”
Lance chuckled, “What did your mother expect you to be born aged fifty or something?”
“Dunno, never met her.”
Lance gasped awkwardly then raised his glass. “Well, to better topics.” They touched glasses once again, albeit more lightly, then Malcolm sculled his down while Lance opted to sip his more slowly. “Wonder when Jimmy will get back?”
“That’s what you should be worrying about,” he paused. “You’re staying here with me ‘til he gets back.”
“Where’s the sense in that?”
“Just a security measure.”
Lance laughed nervously, “So I’m your bloody hostage?’ Well I’m terribly sorry, but Jimmy doesn’t give a shit about me. Thinks I’m too much of a lazy stoner, probably right. He’d welcome a chance to bugger off and leave me behind at your hands.”
Malcolm smiled, “Think that’s going to help your cause?” he held up his pistol. “May as well just cap you now.”
Lance gulped down his drink. “You could, but you wouldn’t get away with it.”
“Is that so? I don’t see any witnesses. There’s a reason I told you my name, what reason would I have to give it to you if I was going to let you live?
Lance sighed, “Well I think another drink’s in order.” He poured two more drinks, continuing to pour Malcolm the greater amount. “To whatever,” he said clapping Malcolm’s glass.
Malcolm sipped at his silently, “You’re not a bad host.”
“You’re a pretty shit guest.”
“Got a lot of nerve for someone so close to death.”
“Why don’t you put that thing away and we’ll talk like reasonable men.”
“You’re right,” he said placing his pistol back into his coat pocket.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“A while.”
“What made you decide to go into this?”
“Tried other things, didn’t appeal.”
“But this does?”
“Stop trying to be my shrink.”
“Just making conversation, little else to do.”
“What do you do?”
“Live.”
“Career-wise?”
“Nothing, used to study now I just live off the ‘rock n roll’.”
“What’d you study?”
“Philosophy?”
“Worthwhile?”
“Eh, was interesting at the time.”
Malcolm paused and looked down at his glass, “I wanted to be a paramedic, you know? Save lives.”
“Sure went the other way on that one,” muttered Lance.
“I do what I can to survive, you can’t say that you wouldn’t do the same under my circumstances.”
“You never have to kill though, I’d rather live without a dollar to my name than a day in your role.”
“Isn’t for everyone I suppose, takes someone with flexible morals.”
“Like another drink?” he said, filling up Malcolm’s glass once more without waiting for a reply.
“What about you?”
“Think I might sit this one out, I’ll be back with something stronger.” He could tell that Malcolm didn’t care, he had sunk back in his chair, the hard liquor having finally taken effect.
Lance headed over to the cupboard as Malcolm gulped down his drink, this time having a bit of trouble, beginning to feel sick in his stomach.
Lance forced open the drawer, turned around and pointed the revolver at Malcolm. “Don’t you fucking move!”
Malcolm stopped sipping his drink and moved it from his mouth then looked into Lance’s eyes. “None of that come on, it’s going to be tough on me having to shoot you.”
“Happy to have freed you up from that burden, evidently you are not armed so I think it’s time you pack it in and leave.”
“You’re telling this to a gunman.”
“Your occupation will mean shit all when you have a bullet in your head.”
“Aren’t you a tenacious one, you know all this could be resolved if you only told me where Jimmy is, but instead you’re willing to die.”
“Jimmy’s not coming back.” He paused. “Just one of the many false identities I hold.”
“Who are you then?”
“I don’t even know.”
In hope to catch him off-guard Malcolm threw his glass at Lance (or whatever his name was) then swiftly drew his gun from his coat pocket. Lance sidestepped the glass and let off a shot from his gun, hitting Malcolm in the gut.
“Prick,” Malcolm muttered. “Looks like we’ve entered into a standoff. You’ve got your gun out, as have I, we’re deadlocked.”
“Difference is you’ve already been hit, can’t last forever.”
“Only gives me nothing to lose.”
He fired twice at Lance’s chest, Lance retaliated by shooting him in the neck. Slowly Malcolm began to collapse onto the couch, knocking over the bottle of scotch as Lance toppled to the floor.
From the floor Lance could see the scotch dripping down the coffee table and onto the already blood-stained carpet. “What a waste,” he muttered.
