A dangerous game

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A dangerous game; Russian roulette
Topic Started: Jul 10 2007, 09:59 PM (110 Views)
Jericho Clarkson	Jul 10 2007, 09:59 PM Post #1
Newbie Posts: 3 Group: Members Member #14 Joined: June 26, 2007	There was the smell of steel, mingled with a hint of oil and a threatening amount of gunpowder. Music drifted along the hint of a breeze that entered through the windows, the piano was playing a happy tune to drown out the noises of the ladies’ handiwork. Jericho was here to play, and he was playing to be sure, but not that kind of game yet. He breathed in the atmosphere of alcohol and sweat, tensed his body and pulled his finger back into line with his other fingers. The trigger clicked backwards and loosened the hammer. It descended quickly, but still Jericho found enough time to doubt and regret his decision. Perception has no regard for human ordering of time in seconds or moments and noted every moment of apprehension with delighted anxiety. The hammer slammed down and Jericho would’ve pulled his shoulders up if immediately thereafter it became clear he had gambled right. An empty chamber, just like two others in the cylinder. He didn’t crack a smile at the man sitting opposite of him. That guy was one of the reasons why he admired the acting abilities of his hosts. To show interest in a guy like him…ugh. He was fat, bald, had a pig-like face and stunk of alcohol, sweat and garlic. The good thing was that it hadn’t rubbed off on the pile of green leaves that lay on the table in front of Jericho. He silently offered the man the revolver for another go, but when he didn’t react, the black man clicked it open and put in the missing rounds. The tension flooded out of him and for a moment he extended himself a moment of relaxation, but then he snapped back to attention, slid the revolver in its holster and began packing up his newly acquired salary. Sixty beautiful bankees filled with possibilities. A night of fun here, a good drink and many other possibilities lay within the sign of the dollar. The other man now realized that he was losing what he had risked his life for, the possibilities for things he sure as hell wouldn’t get without those beautiful papers. “A chance in two, you’re one lucky bastard, you no-good son of a…” “Unlike you, I don’t carry my guns for show and do know how they sound, but at least you can count, that’s a decent start…” The man’s face contorted into a look of rage, his broad features turning red as blood mounted his sweaty face. He looked like a boar, even frothing at mouth. “You insolent piece of shit!” Jericho saw his hand shoot towards the holster at his right side, he reacted his own left going towards the man’s throat like a vise locking around wood. It was a race against the clock, but Jericho’s attack was much more straightforward and therefore hit the mark sooner. As the fat sausages that were sad excuses for fingers curled around the grip of the revolver, Jericho curled his around the throat of its master. His own right hand pulled the knife from his left shoulder and quickly poised the steel against the man’s double chin. “Do you really want to be a sore loser…?” It seemed like the music had silenced, or that might just be a personal perception, since his voice did carry to the fat man’s ears, even though he had no more than whispered, a whisper lie the wind. The wind that rustled the leaves of the graveyards trees…



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