Page 66 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“You could use a blunt object,” Percy offered.
“Don’t tell him that!” Tareq cried, before doubling over with an ‘ooof!’ from the impact of Waleed’s fist.
“It might have been gentlemanly to let him brace,” Percy suggested.
Waleed made no more reply than the tsunami of blood that erupted from his lips and spattered across the table as Tareq returned the punch.
Percy threw his cigarette in the ashtray and clicked a new bullet down into the chamber of his gun. “Very convincing,”he said, climbing to his feet. “And now for the final touch. Morning Star?”
“What?” Tareq’s eyes went straight to the weapon. “What are you going to do?”
“Go stand over there by the window.”
“No! Why?”
“We’re just going to shoot you—” Percy began.
“Shoot me!” Tareq cried.
“Just the slightest bit.”
“A bit? You can’t shoot someone a bit!”
“Yes, you definitely can. I’ve done it before.”
“No, you shoot someone or you don’t shoot someone. You don’t shoot them ‘a bit’.”
“I can and I will, but if you don’t keep still?—”
“I’m not keeping still!”
Percy raised his gun and pointed it directly at Tareq’s chest. “It’s a very long way to the hospital with a bullet in your heart.”
Waleed nodded his concerned agreement, relieved he wasn’t the one getting shot, but also in firm accordance with Percy that to keep still would be the wiser option.
As the reality of the thing set in, Tareq’s hands began to shake. He took a few deep breaths in and out to try to steady himself. “Can I please do it?”
Percy’s eyebrows pushed together. “No. Of course you can’t shoot yourself. You want gunpowder burn? I need to be at least ten feet back.”
“Ten feet!”
“The burns are more painful than what I’m about to do. Now pull the shirt tight against your skin and get ready.”
It was happening whether he liked it or not. Tareq tugged at his sleeve with an unsteady hand, his eyes shut tight, mumbling a silent prayer.
“I promise, I’m a very good shot,” said Percy, narrowing his eyes to a perfect focus on the very edge of Tareq’s upper arm.
The door burst open, Percy squeezed the trigger, and the gigantic glass panel behind Tareq shattered into a million pieces and crashed down to the street far below. Tareq stood, sickly, shaking, but uninjured, Waleed held his breath in anxious horror, and Percy turned and levelled his gun straight at Joe’s head.
“What the fuck?” Joe shouted.
Percy redirected his aim as the first moment of real stress since the drama began hit him, making him snap at Joe, “We’ve talked about this kind of thing!”
“What kind of thing?” yelled an exasperated Joe, climbing to his feet after having fallen over the grotesque remains in the doorway.
“About you interrupting my work.”
“Work? What work? You went to get a car and now there are bodies?—”
