Strange Places

Waking up in a strange room with menacing men holding weapons no longer scared me. Or even surprised me. I’d been through this hundreds of times, and my survival is a testament to some ridiculous fortune.
Perturbed that my hat and coat had been removed, I also noticed my gun gone, along with my keys, wallet, and rubber duck. I tried to move, but found all limbs tied to the chair, and the chair seemed quite stable.
“Stop moving, or the boss says we can make a hit,” one of the men behind him said.
“Make a hit, you say? Hehe, well, my good friend Ricky has made a couple hits too, like “Fly me to the Random Space Junk” and “Come Soar with Me”, hehe,” I replied nervously. Humor always loosened up tense situations. It also loosened up restraint.
“Think you’re so funny, eh?” Darn Canadian hitmen(W00T!!). “Well, why don’t you tell your joke to Mr. Louisville Slugger?” His arm cocked back when a door I couldn’t see creaked open. His arm relaxed as another voice, much smoother, came across to me.
“Mr. Dills, I’m surprised to see you back again so early,” the man said as he closed the door behind him. “Does it not seem like just yesterday that you made a similar visit, under similar circumstances?”
“Perhaps,” I responded neutrally. Advice: don’t let anything on in an interrogation room.
“Ah, well I’m sure you know best. Of course, I actually know why you’re here this time,” he hinted.
“Oh, do you? Mind letting me in on that, I think I’ve forgotten.” I always chuckle in my mind after lines like that.
“Yes, I believe it was because of something like this,” he finished, pulling out his gun and cocking it.
Some people pray at moments like this. I just use my psychic powers to deflect the bullets.
Not really.
“See you in Hell, Mr. Rawlins,” I responded cheerfully, knowing all the little offenses would’ve stacked up against me.
“To be sure,” he responded, swinging his gun around and popping each of the thugs in the forehead.


Yeah. Because that one happens a lot.

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