by Katelyn S. Irons Indeed~Shoot~Cry
It was a very ordinary work room except for two things: the unusually high arched eyebrow on the one side of the room and the gun pointed at it.
"You're not really going to shoot me with that are you, good chap?" said the owner of the eyebrow.
"I wouldn't dream of it." The gun was put back in the holster. "But, then again, I usually don't have very realistic dreams."
The eyebrow lowered. The man dove behind a nearby table just as the gun was redrawn. Shots rang out. "We can settle this without any of that, sir." came the voice from behind the table.
"I don't want to settle this Robert." The hand holding the gun was shaky but the voice rang out clear and strong. "I just want you dead."
"Ha! Indeed." Robert took a pipe from his tweed suit coat and put the stem between his lips. He didn't light it but inhaling the rich warm scent of cherry tobacco calmed him.
"Yes, indeedy, Robert." came the mocking reply. The man with the gun cast long distorted shadows in the dim room. "Don't act like you aren't afraid of me. You know I'd kill you without a thought for what you've done to me."
"I don't remember doing anything purposely to harm you."
"That's exactly what a callous, heartless..." the man with the gun started mumbling and kicked another table over.
"I see," came Robert's steady voice. "Would you be so good as to explain what I did to you?"
"I shouldn't have to, but it would be a shame for you to die without a guilty conscience. We wouldn't want to turn you into a martyr," he sighed. "Get out from behind that table. I want to see your face."
"Whatever you say, old chap." Robert dusted off his trousers and found a metal folding chair. "Please join me."
"No thanks," the man said with biting sarcasm. "I could kill you in a second and you want me to sit down. You're nuttier than I thought."
"Quite important, you know." Robert fiddled with his pipe.
"Quite," the man moved farther away. "You always think you're something, don't you? You can't even think of one thing you did in your life to make a man hate you? Loathe your existence? Go out and buy a gun and plot your demise?"
There was a pregnant pause in which time did not move. Then a hysterical cry- "My wife. Your car. You killed her! Oh God! Has this man no soul?"
A moment of respected silence crossed between the men. "Of course I have a soul. It was a terrible, terrible accident. Your wife was never supposed to get hurt. The last thing I wanted to do is kill your wife, Mr. Howard."
Robert removed his pipe, "So that's no reason to kill me."
Mr. Howard breathed out, a long, slow exhalation which shook his shoulders. When he looked up the crazed passion that was in his eyes was replaced by exhaustion. He sat down and placed his gun on the table. "I just want her back."
"Would you care for a real reason to hate me?"
Mr. Howard slammed the table with his fist and laid down his head. "I just wish I had someone to blame."
"Well you can blame me if you really wish." Robert put his pipe away. He could tell there was nothing left to be afraid of. The man was defeated. "If you want to hate me you can hate me because I was really trying to kill you."
Robert's target raised his head and stared in wonder. In the golden light of the room, the tweed jacket was only a blur as the gun was caught up. A shot rang out.
Silence.
An arched eyebrow.
A gun.
A man in tweed with blood on his hands.