cal-tin

[cal-tin]

Fifty-Nine

How could I be so stupid? I was never this sloppy - never ever! I'd gotten too cocky.

I wasn't scared looking down the barrel of the .357, I was fucking pissed.

The man looking down on me grinned delightfully, "What were you planning to do with this, bub?" he kicked the butcher’s knife and motioned his revolver toward it. I know - it is very cliche - serial killer with a butcher’s knife; what am I, fucking Michael Meyers? You might roll your eyes, but goddam you don't know how satisfying it is to use that thing.

"Who's the killer now motherfucker?" He looked absolutely pleased with himself, "We do it different here in Texas, bub. I've taken down bigger pussies than you over the years."

I was seething, I am a fucking professional.

Had this guy known I'd been following him for the past month? Probably not.

Did he know I had killed fifty-eight other cop's the past three years? Maybe.

No, I don't have any long-drawn-out story for doing what I do, but I did have the most important reason. I fucking loved it; and not only that, I was good at it. I'm due my god damn respect. Do you know how much work this takes? This dumb hick just got lucky, that's all - pure luck.

I smiled widely at him, "You know what they call me you fucking pi-"

The .357 swung down smacking the side of my face, I heard a crunch of a few molars as blood, along with a few teeth, flew from my lips.

"You shut the fuck up when I'm talking to you! I know who you are - Cop Killer. I was hoping you'd show your face around here, bub. I plan on pulling the rest of your teeth, you don't deserve any mercy."

Fuck, I needed an opening here.

Twisting my face to look horrified, I pushed out a few tears and looked up at him.

"P-please m-m-mister I p-p-promise I won’t do it no more. P-please God, have mercy on me! You s-seem like a decent man." At first, his unimpressed expression remained unflinching as he asked, "Just how many cops have you killed, bub?", but when he noticed the piss puddle forming around my bent knees, he wavered for just a second.

This was my moment.

His .357 went off over my shoulder as I dove forward for the knife, the ricochet of the round reverberated through the hallway. The revolver swung around back toward me, but it was too late. Clutching the knife, I cut both of that dumb hicks Achilles at the heel and watched them shoot up into his kneecaps. He let out a sharp yelp and fell like a tree onto the floor where I once kneeled. I stood over him and swung the knife down into the nape of his neck.

Looking down I stood there, pleased with my work.

Hissing, I replied to his dead corpse.

"fifty-nine, bub".

[cal-tin]

Magic Tricked

"Magic Tricked"

This guy has gotta be a hack, I thought to myself as I read the aged sign.

The obvious misspelling on the wooden placard out front of the striped purple tent screamed cheap - but hell - I've got nothing to do for the next hour of my lunch break.

The tent and sign went up three days ago, causing a buzz in my office. My cubicle neighbor, Susan, would not let it go, "You have got to go, Dave! He made someone disappear in the final act! It was unbelievable."

I am not sure a $5 commission was selling the "unbelievable" claim, but at least it was cheap.

I sat through 20 minutes of the worst card tricks I have ever seen in my life before I was about to call it quits. I was getting ready to stand before the masked magician exclaimed he would do his final act, might as well see it through.

"For this next act, I will need a volunteer!"

No one raised their hand.

The masked man pointed at me, "Very well! You sir came here alone! Will you be my assistant today? Do you have what it takes to be a magician's assistant?"

This would give Susan a chuckle.

I got up and joined him in the small ringed dirt circle. The magician pulled a mirrored box with a split door, just big enough to fit me inside.

"What is your name good sir?"

"Dave"

He motioned his hand toward the now-open reflective box. "For the finale! We will make Dave disappear!"

I stepped inside. The box was a one-way mirror, I could see the audience still.

The magician began shutting the bottom and top doors. "Dear audience! Say goodbye to our good friend, Dave! For you will never see him again!". As the top door inched close, the magician spoke quietly to me.

"Say goodbye, Dave."

Something about his tone was chilling, almost evil.

The door shut, and the once-audible crowd noise was completely silenced. This box was not only a one-way mirror but also soundproof.

That's strange, I thought.

With a sweeping gesture, the magician waved his hands in front of the box. The top part of the box bumped my head and began pushing down on my skull, compressing my neck.

What the fuck?

The box still pushed down harder and harder making it difficult to breathe. The inside of this thing was shrinking down and suffocating me!

I tried to manage a scream, but what came out didn't seem to register on the faces of the audience. I could hear my neck crack as my knees began to forcibly buckle in a direction they naturally could not. The crunching of my spine audibly popped in my eardrums.

The magician opened the top half of the half door where my face and torso would have been.

I urged myself not to black out.

The audience stood and clapped wildly.

My vision shot down as my neck finally snapped.