Sweat coats my forehead and the back of my neck pulsates with awareness. My feet are planted firmly into the red carpet and although I am eleven feet from any wall, I can hear the rain striking the ocean outside. Everyone in the room is dead except for him. They were dead when I arrived, and the barrel of his blunderbuss is still smoking in his hand. He wants a showdown, he's sure as hell got one. The weight of the .50 in my hand reminds me of one simple truth – I'm loaded, he's not. I tilt my head to the bodies floored between us, not wavering my aim at his calm face.
“You got bored, I see.”
“Oh, I just thought I'd give you a break. You know, hell; it's the least I can do.”
My eyes are locked in on his, trying to remain as calm as him. Any moment now, I expect him to flip his chair, reload the blunderbuss, and end me without a second thought. Instead, he continues to sit, one leg crossed over the other. Slippers... he's wearing slippers. He lifts his wine glass with his free hand and carries it to his lips. It's empty. He frowns slightly and sets it back down on the table beside him. Clearing his throat, he glances around for the bottle and continues speaking to me with indifference.
“So, you killed Annabelle. Must have been hard for you. I'm sorry.”
A chill runs through my spine and finds it's way down my arm to my trigger finger. I have to consciously keep my hand from reacting. It's a chill I'd not even felt when I watched her collapse earlier tonight. I slow my breathing as best I can before answering, trying to keep my heart-rate steady.
“It was easy. I just pulled the trigger like every other time. You should understand, after all. You're the one who taught me.”
“What, how to shoot?” he laughs.
“No,” I answer, a tear creeping across my right eye. “How to kill and how to ignore remorse. How to look into someone's eyes and tell yourself they won't be missed, the world will go on just the same without them.”
“Well, it's true!” He looked around the room, fanning out his fingers in display. “We're still here, aren't we? The world carries on without missing a beat.”
I still won't move. Keep focused.
“So they won't miss you?”
“Take, for example, Loaded Tony,” he continues, ignoring my remark. “Now, he was of some import to me. He was actually useful, unlike your soused girlfriend. I just kept her around for the weekends.” He smirked to himself at the memories. “But Tony was an intricate part of my business, he provided the fire power... as well as various other commodities.”
“And I killed the thieving piece of shit.”
“And yet,” he spreads his hands again to reiterate the point. “Here we are, Tommy; aboard my yacht, enjoying a vintage '58 Basie record and a Merlot of the same year.” He stands cooly to his feet and saunters over to the bar, fetching the bottle of wine to refill his glass. Maybe he'll even offer me a glass. If he does, so help me! But no, he doesn't. Instead he uncorks the bottle and looks at the gun in my hand, still locked on his face as if they're playing a staring game. Suddenly, he kicks the bottle back and takes a ravenous swig. Very unbecoming of a man of his caliber and class, but who will judge a man on how he chooses to enjoy what is to be his last vice on earth. “Not only does life go on, my boy... but it still tastes pretty damn good.”
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