How To Fake Your Death

How To Win A Knife Fight

Jean moved himself behind me, which I found both comical and annoying. I tightened my garrotte in my hands, making the wire taut. It glinted menacingly in the streetlight.

The three figures approached us with a newfound grace. Teenagers are scary. No one doubts that. But these guys were scary-scary. They emanated Kray brother energy, even though it did not show on their exterior, apart from the abundance of curly tattoos which snaked their way up their arms.

"We are unarmed!" Jean announced, despite the handgun nestled in his palm, and my garrotte on full display.

"Yes, do lie to the scary people, it will totally go down well," I muttered.

"I am scary."

I snorted. The teens stood before us now. The one on the left held a pocket knife, which, on its own would not have been threatening, but wedged between scarred, caramel knuckles tattooed with snakes and eagles, it made me nervous. The second was empty handed, but that didn't put my mind at ease. His silver rings were tinged scarlet and looked slightly dented.

The one in the centre could easily have been cast as a villain for a Disney show. He had cropped black hair, with sideburns which elongated themselves to form a scraggly beard on his chin, even though he looked around 19. He had a tattoo under his left eye, which said in small print: Sleep with one eye open. He had countless scars cutting across his pale complexion and a crooked nose, which I deduced must have been broken recently. He stepped forward, his dark brown eyes not leaving Jean's face.

"Well, Jean. Long time, no see." He grumbled, his accent was British. His voice was deep and hoarse, like he had smoked too many cigarettes.

"Tyler," Jean nodded. The other two henchmen snickered.

Tyler cleared his throat and fiddled with the tip of his beard, "You know that isn't my name anymore. It's Razorblade. It is in your best interest to address me properly."

I raised my eyebrows, "Razorblade? You look like you haven't touched one in ages." Tyler's friends continued to laugh, until Tyler elbowed them both in the stomach. They collapsed to the floor clutching their chest, wheezing.

Tyler turned his attention on me, "So, you're the famous cousin?"

"Tejan told you about me?"

"Yes, of course." He sneered, "You're his favourite." I winced.

I got flashbacks to me practising with my throwing knives on him during Uno, after he made me pull a +4. I remembered being rushed to the hospital after he had slipped rat poison into my Caprisun (let's just say that was one of the reasons the Southwood's limited their family reunions to once every five years). "Yeah, we get along swell. Does he know I'm here?"

"Yes, he doesn't know completely why. He has a suspicion that you had something to do with that Hoffburg boy's death. But, you are none of our concern." He said. He pushed past me and grabbed Valentin's loose collar with one hand.

Tyler slammed Jean's body against the wall and he raised Jean a couple inches off the floor. Jean grunted on impact but did not show that he was in pain. He removed his handgun from his coat pocket and held it up weakly, in attempt to show them he was armed. It had not effect. The man with the stained rings took two steps forward and knocked it out of Jean's hand with one fell swoop. It clattered to the floor and skittered across the damp cobblestones towards the left corner of the alleyway. Great.

Jean's eyes didn't look surprised, "Well, that's barely fair." He made apathetic eye-contact with Tyler for the first time since the first time we had spoken.

"You think I care about fair?!" Tyler shook Jean violently. "I'll kill you myself."

That seemed to trigger something inside Jean. His eyes widened in fear, "You're not actually going to kill me, are you?"