Happy Saturday and welcome to the first day of Blogfest Weekend. That's right. Two days of blogfest awesomeness. Here's my humble 700 word entry for the Murder Scene Blogfest hosted by the lovely Anne Riley. Don't forget to head over and check out the rest of these killer entries when you're finished.
Outside, the heavy press of humidity, darkening skies, and a shift in the whisper of wind announced the coming storm.
Inside, the clock in the corner of the screen counted down the time left in the quarter.
Jake dropped boneless onto the couch, tossed a beer without looking across the room. "I call this one right and it's a hundred bucks in the pool."
Eyes on the big screen, Sam shifted in the recliner, snagged the can mid-air.
The ref’s whistle stopped the clock, and a quiet voice floated behind them.
Two heads snapped in unison.
Jake came off the couch. "What the fuck..."
The snarl died before he pulled up short at the sight of the man standing statue-still ten feet away.
"Stop right there.” A huge, steady hand leveled the Berretta; ice blue eyes pinned its target in place. “Sit down."
The matte black silencer twitched toward the big screen. "Thought you wanted to watch the game."
Hands up, palms out, Jake folded himself back into his seat, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun pointed at him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Nobody you know." A spasm rippled across a tight jaw line and bloodless lips pulled back in a feral smile. "Just some guy in from out of town for a little while.” He jerked his head toward the TV. “Who's playing?"
Predatory eyes narrowed, targeted the man on the couch. "What's your name?"
The Berretta shifted to target the man in the chair. "You?"
"Sam." He blew out the word on an explosive exhale.
Jake shifted on the couch. "What the hell..."
The Berretta twitched again. Jake's eyes snapped wide open as it pointed right at him.
"Who's playing?" The voice went low and dangerous.
"Who are you?" Sam croaked.
"Green Bay and...Minnesota." Jake brought his hands up, forefingers pointed at the pistol. "You might wanna take it easy with that thing."
"Don't worry, I got it under control." He snorted a laugh. "We're just gonna have a little talk."
Beads of sweat gathered along Sam’s hairline, his upper lip. "Put that thing down and we'll talk."
"I don't think so.” The voice was soft, almost lilting. “Not yet. We have some unfinished business."
Jake inhaled a careful breath, ran a dry tongue around parched lips. "We don't know you."
"No, you don't." Mirror-flat eyes locked Jake in their line of sight. "But you've met a friend of mine."
Sam breathed deep; the smell of his own fear sharp in his nostrils, in his throat, choked him. "Who?"
"Pretty girl, about this tall." The gunman’s free hand up came up close to his left eye. "Thin, beautiful face, beautiful black hair..."
"Last night." Shaking now, Sam closed his eyes, mumbled something that might have been a prayer.
"Yeah, last night." Cold, dead eyes examined their target. "You like to hurt them? Mess them up? That the only way you can get any?"
"Man, I don't know what you're talking about." Jake took one rasping breath and the words came faster, running off his tongue. "Just take it easy. Don't do anything stupid. Put the gun down. We didn't do anything..."
A flatline smile bled across tight lips. "You drugged her and then you raped her."
"No, man, I swear. It wasn't like that." Jake’s hands came up in supplication and his eyes widened, flicked between the pistol and the cold, calm face of the man holding it.
Breathing hard, Sam felt wet warmth pool beneath him. "Don't do this, please."
"And then you left her...lying in a back alley to die." The words hummed with focused fury.
"We didn't know she was so messed up..." Jake tasted copper in his mouth.
Sam strained for air. "Please don't do this."
"Shut the fuck up."
The finger on the trigger tightened. There was a snick almost like an electrical spark.
The body on the couch jerked back and then crumbled as the Berretta slid a quarter turn to the side and fired again. The body on the recliner twitched and then stilled, arms and legs splayed.
He reached for the remote and turned off the game on his way out the back door.