The Truth Will…
Günter locked eyes with Kirk. ‘You wouldn’t dare kill the Chief Executioner, would you?’
‘Oh, Chief-Ex, I always wondered what you looked like underneath that hood,’ Kirk said.
‘You mean, you couldn’t see through it?’
‘No, actually.’ Kirk continued to aim his pistol fists at Günter. ‘My father had some block thingy so our antennae and super Bytrode eyes couldn’t penetrate. I don’t know why, something about executioners to be impersonal…’
Günter straightened up. ‘Well, now you know. You can put your shooting claws down.’
‘I don’t think so. You see, I don’t believe you’re the Chief Ex. Any who, what are you doing with my girl?’
‘I’m not your girl!’ I threw a book at him.
The book bounced off his head, and then cartwheeled over to the lampstand. Kirk’s gun claws, aimed at Günter and me, remained steady. They vibrated and whirred charging up to fire. Kirk crowed, ‘Bombs away!’
A ray zapped the chair just millimetres from me. Puff! No more chair.
‘Don’t make me angry, Minna.’ Kirk pointed at the sawdust near my feet. ‘It’d be such a shame if you ended up like that chair. I want to enjoy you.’
‘How many times do I have to remind you, I’m Holly. And there is no way I’d let you near me. I’d rather be that disintegrated chair, than spend time with you.’ I glanced at Günter. ‘He’s confused, poor chap.’
‘I’m not. I see right through your façade.’ Kirk then looked at Günter. ‘As for you, I’m thinking, if you’ve been walking around here as the Chief Ex, and if you’re not—well, then, you must be a spy.’ He chuckled as he charged his claw gun again. ‘So, if you’re a spy, then you must’ve been responsible for killing my father.’
Günter held his gaze with the crazed Kirk.
I held my breath and looked away. I expected the worst.
‘I never had anything to do with his death. Your father was old and sick. Anyway, cockroaches never die—except old and sick ones.’
‘No! No! No! You did it! You have to pay!’
I heard the hum of laser. I glimpsed the pillow on fire.
‘Where is he?’ Kirk scanned the room.
Günter, his executioner’s cloak over his head, crawled towards me.
Kirk trod to the bed. His boots crunched on the broken glass. ‘You won’t get away with it. I’m the son of Boris. No one messes with the son of Boris.’
When Günter reached me, he covered me with his blanket.
I had an idea. ‘You could tell him who you really are,’ I whispered.
‘You are joking.’
‘No, I’m serious. Telling the truth is our only chance of survival.’
‘And how is telling that creep who I am, going to stop him from shooting us both to bits?’
Swoosh! Kirk pulled off our cover. ‘There you are!
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019
Feature Photo: Our cats, Holly and Storm trying hide © L.M. Kling 2010
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