Chapter Four - Save Me from this Psychobitch
“I pity the fool, especially the ones who’re foolish twenty-four-seven. Thank goodness most people are only stupid on occasion.”
- Wiona Mason
I am the fool.
I’m a complete, blundering idiot for thinking he meant the window. He meant the door at the end of the hall….
“There,” Robe grunted. “You go there to get cleaned up,” he sneered at my blood smeared face and ruined shirt. “And to meet your Initiator.”
My what? Wait, never mind, I probably don’t want to know.
He kneed me in the ass, and obvious sign for me to get moving. I speed walked over to the door and stopped to wait for a further command. Damn, he’s making me feel like a dog or something.
“Go in,” he forced a smile. His teeth were amazingly white, I should ask him what toothpaste he uses sometime. I’ll save that for when he’s not breathing down my neck, glaring at me as if he’s about to kill me.
It’s not like I enjoy fighting or anything, but sometimes--well, actually, only since today--do I slightly regret my promise. I would love to punch Robe.
“One more thing,” Robe grabbed my hand right as I lifted it to open the door. “What’s your suit size?”
“What?” Why do you want to know? I’m a barber, not some hitman called the Mockingbird!” I exclaimed. I needed to get away from this guy before I did break my promise.
My eyes wandered up to the brass numbers hanging on the door. 1048.
Add those together and you get… thirteen. I’m not very superstitious, but I do believe in omens. And I’m pretty sure this was an omen.
“You’re the Blackbird,” Robe said. “Now answer me, what is your suit size?”
“I don’t fu-- I don’t know,” that was a close call. Don’t want to piss this guy off. He’s probably annoyed enough already.
“Should I measure you?” he cocked a single eyebrow, a mild amusement in his eyes.
“No!” I tore my hand from his. “No. Look, I’ll be a good boy and go get cleaned up now, see?” I forced a smile and held my hands up in surrender. Under no circumstances did I want him to measure me. I wouldn’t mind so much if I were gay, but I’m not. Not that I have anything against those who are, one of my close friends is.
I grabbed at the doorknob, but it didn’t turn. Damn.
“Well, whadd’ya know? It’s lo-” I jumped when the door gave way.
“AAH!” Shit! I didn't’ mean to yell, but what else am I to do when the knob turns suddenly beneath my hands and opened.
I fell forward, right into something soft….
“Mmhmph?” My hands felt up what I had fallen into. Warm, soft and….
“Excuse me!” a woman’s voice, with a thick European accent. Hands grabbed my shoulders, pushing me back while another, much larger and just as unfriendly bunched the back of my shirt up to pull me up.
I blinked, trying to make sure I was seeing right. A woman, dark haired and very flustered gave a cough, releasing my shoulders as she tried to regain her composure.
“I’ll wait in the hall. Get him cleaned up Kristin,” Robe said.
“Uhm, right. Yessir, cap’n Robester,” Kristin grinned, shoving her thick rimmed glasses up her nose with one hand while she gave him a mock salute with her right.
She smirked, shaking her bangs from her face, a long braid swaying back and forth behind her.
I must admit, I would have expected a woman working for the mafia to be dressed less casually, but then it hit me… they probably want to keep a low profile.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” Robe’s jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes were set to kill. Boy am I glad she pissed him off first.
“Okie dokes, Robester,” Kristin smiled, taking me by the hands and tugging me inside. “This way, now. Let’s get you all cleaned up, Blackbird,” she beamed.
“First off, we’ll get your face all clean!”
Robe pulled the door closed behind us, leaving me alone in a hotel room with a beautiful woman (she looked nerdy, but I bet if she took off those glasses and took her hair out of that braid she’d be a fox). A woman who worked for the mafia, at that. My chances of survival were probably… oh, one in a hundred.
“Okay, wait, what’re you doing?” I asked, not allowing her to pull me further into the room. I swallowed hard, feeling her expectant eyes on me.
“Getting you cleaned up,” she smiled, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. “Now let’s get you out of these filthy clothes. Any personal possessions are to be removed from pockets and left on the counter for my review. Oh, but give me your phone now.”
“Don’t have one,” I grumbled, looking her up and down. She was eager to get me cleaned up. Too eager.
“What? You making me strip or something?” I shoved my left hand in my pocket, gripping my box cutter so hard I felt the plastic casing cutting into my skin.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she smirked. “It’s not like I’ll be seeing anything I haven’t seen before.”
Shit, she did not just say that. I really can’t handle a psychobitch right now.
My eyes flitted to the door of the bathroom. My one way to escape….
“Oh, and give me your clothes to dispose of, too,” she held out her hands.
“Bathroom!” I rasped, diving into the room and slamming the door shut behind me, throwing my weight against it whilst I locked it. I let out my breath in a slow, long stream. My hands were shaking.
Kristin hit against the door. “Blackbird!”
“I’m not the Blackbird!” I yelled, searching for the light switch in the dark. I turned on the fan, too, to drown out the psychobitch trying to talk to me through the door.
I let myself slide to the ground, my back against the door and buried my face in my hands. Somebody, kill me now, before the mafia does.
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officialy 1/4th of the way through typing things up (and making slight adjustments) from that which I've got in my notebook ^^ yay :D
CITEȘTI
Crybaby Boy
Polițiste / ThrillerI believe in coincideces, but not in mass. Once coincidence, yes. Two, that's already a sure sign of bad things to come, and I'd know that bad things don't come in threes. They come by the bucket, by the truckload. I guess today is just another o...
