D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

Eric wrapped a length of rope around Nick’s chest, tying him roughly to an old office chair with broken wheels. Nick’s legs were free, but the chair wobbled so much that he couldn’t move without feeling like he was about to tip over. Normally he enjoyed the feeling. In fact, he spent many of his weekends taking copious amounts of pills in an attempt to create it. However, in this situation, it was rather disconcerting.

Eric sat down at one of the computers, typing furiously. Only Stanley appeared concerned with their prisoner. Stanley scratched his forehead with the barrel of the gun, smiling darkly. “So, Mr. Wergild, I suppose you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here.”

“No, not really.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You’re not interested? Not even a little bit?”

“I guess I’m not the curious type,” Nick explained, shrugging.

“Well, I feel like I have to tell you why you’re here. I’d hate to kill you without you even knowing why.”

Nick was suddenly nervous. “So it’s to be torture, then? Fine! Torture me all you want!”

“I was just going to shoot you,” Stanley explained, confused. “Torture would just be cruel. And I really can’t handle screaming. Reminds me of how my parents always used to fight…”

“But I have secrets!” Nick insisted. “Did you know they’re making a Lesbian Vampire Space Pirates movie? I read the script! If you let me go, I might tell you how it ends!”

“I wouldn’t want to know that!” Stanley gasped, clutching his chest. “I’ve been waiting three years for that movie! It would completely spoil the experience!”

“Oh, right. What about… Wait, I’ve got something.” He paused, trying to remember the name of the star. “Jade Raven! I know her home address!”

“You really know where she lives?” Stanley asked eagerly.

“I sure do,” Nick said. “Before she got into acting, she was my sister’s roommate’s cousin’s accountant’s former hairdresser. But I’ll never tell.”

Stanley placed the gun on top of the scanner. He rummaged through the pile of electronics, eventually coming up with an old car battery and some jumper cables. “Fine,” he said, “I guess I’ll torture you after all.”

“Or you could bribe me,” Nick said, wishing he had thought through his plan a little more. “I know! Let me go, and I’ll transmit you her address later. How does that sound?”

Stanley connected the cables and touched the ends, spraying sparks. The sound drew Eric’s attention. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We’re just supposed to invite him to the warehouse, politely explain why we kidnapped him, and then shoot him in the face. That’s what our employer wants.”

“Fine!” Stanley sighed, dropping the cables. Cocking the gun, he aimed it squarely at Nick’s perspiring forehead.

Suddenly, Nick remembered the bullets he had taken from Gabrielle’s security guard. They were still in his jacket pocket. He didn’t have a pistol, but he might still be able to use them to escape. He just had to wait for the right time. He glanced over at the catapult on the other side of the room. “You’re just going to use a gun? Why not just throw more furniture at me?”

“It was Eric’s idea,” Stanley said, gesturing at the medieval machine. “We were supposed to kill you, so Eric said, ‘Hey, why don’t we use my trebuchet?’ I kept telling him that it only works against stationary objects, like fucking castles , but he didn’t listen. Besides, when you only have to murder one person, using a catapult is overkill. It’s like brushing your teeth with a belt sander. Fortunately, after a few spectacular failures, he let me try technology from this century.”

“And that’s when you tried to drown me in chocolate and sucked all the air out of my hospital room?”

“Are you going to bring up all our failures? That’s just rude! We captured you and dragged you to our warehouse, but did we tease you about it? No!” He took a deep breath and, a little more relaxed, continued. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“You were about to say why we’re going to murder him,” Eric offered helpfully.

“Right, right. We work for Quentin Fairbanks. He saw our commercial and knew immediately that we were the right guys for the job.”

“Hitmen have commercials?”

“Actually, we’re writers,” Stanley explained. “Fairbanks saw the commercial for our new novel, Supernatural Undead Crazy Killers. He offered us ten million to murder you. At first, we didn’t want to do it. Us, hitmen? But then Fairbanks pointed out that the best writers draw from their own experiences, so we thought–”

“Did he contact you from the nut house?” Nick interrupted. “He might have a hard time signing your paycheck with his arms in a straitjacket.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Stanley asked. “He sent us a video mail. He said that you left his daughter at the altar and, for that, you had to die.” He raised his gun once more.

“Wait!” Nick said, struggling against the rope. “I’m trying to tell you something! He’s in the McMurphy Insane Asylum in Seattle! Trans the place if you don’t believe me. With him locked up, how are you going to prove you killed me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hitmen have to prove they’ve killed their targets before they get paid. How are you going to do that? Fairbanks is trapped in an asylum. You can’t exactly bring a corpse in there, not even during visiting hours.”

“He’s right,” Eric said. “I forgot. We’re supposed to catch the whole thing on video. We can’t use our transmitters because the video would have our account data attached… Do we have an old-fashioned camera in this pile of junk?”

“No, we don’t,” Stanley grumbled. “I’d better go to the antique store and get one.”

“I’ll stay here, keep an eye on him.”

“That’s not necessary,” Nick said. “I won’t go anywhere. Promise!”

Stanley handed Eric the gun and, laughing, walked out the door. Eric turned his chair to face his captive, placing the gun on the armrest. “Don’t try anything. I’m perfectly willing to shoot you before Stanley returns. He wants to film your death, but video of your corpse will get the message across just as well.”

For a moment, silence.

“While we’re waiting for the camera,” Nick said finally, “would you like to see a magic trick?”

“I’m not untying you.”

“You don’t have to. Just watch closely.” He furrowed his brow, concentrating. “I simply say the magic words klaatu barada nikto , and all the bullets in your revolver disappear!”

Eric aimed the gun at his prisoner’s crotch. “So I can pull the trigger, then?”

“Certainly.” Nick tugged the hem of his leather jacket. The bullets in his pocket clacked noisily. “But first, you’ll need your ammunition back.”

Eric laughed. “Alright, I’ll play along. Let’s see what’s in your coat.” He reached in Nick’s jacket and pulled out the bullets. “What the hell..?”

“I can see you’re skeptical,” Nick said. “But those are really your bullets. Go ahead, check your gun!” Eric opened the cylinder and peered inside. Nick jumped to his feet, the chair still tied to his back. He ran across the loading dock, headed for the door.

“Hey, come back here!” Eric pushed the cylinder back into place and, holding the gun in both hands, aimed carefully. The shot missed Nick’s head by three feet.

Nick kicked open the door and leapt down the stairs. The weight on his back threw off his balance. He fell down the steps, landing on his stomach, his head bouncing off the pavement. He struggled to his feet, stars shooting through his eyes. Blinking away the dancing lights, he rushed to the other side of the lot.