Confidence Game

This entry is part 3 of 16 in the series MicroFiction

“It’s time,” he said as he sat down in front of me.

“Time for?” I asked, lighting another cigarette and wishing to hell that my eye hadn’t started twitching.

He chuckled, momentarily smoothing out the lines in his weathered face.  At that moment, I hated the white-haired son of a bitch more than anyone on the planet.  Hated him more than I hated my ex-wife.

“It’s easy for you to play this game.  To play stupid, or ignorant, or ‘hard-to-get’.  But I do not play.  You will either give me the notebook, or I will have your balls presented to you on a plate and make you eat them.  I will make you savor every bite and you will thank me for it, for the opportunity to eat your own balls. Because by that time, you will have an idea of what other horrors I can present you with.  And if you are very lucky, your education may end there.”

“How do you know I even have the notebook?” I asked, squinting as my smoke drifted into my eyes from the cigarette dangling from my mouth.  The look on his face was the calm frustration of a parent or new dog owner.  “Your man didn’t search me.”

“Where else would it be?” he asked.  “A man like you has nobody he can trust.  Nobody who wouldn’t stab you in the back for the sheer pleasure it would give them to watch you vanish.”

I stubbed the cigarette out on the table.  “You’re right,” I admitted as I reached into my coat, my fingertips brushing the ancient leather cover.  “And that’s why I carry a gun.”

Before his man could move, his forehead crumpled, forcing his brain to squeeze through the new hole in the back of his skull.  My gun swiftly slid towards my host and gave him a slug through his expensive, purple silk shirt and continued through the back of his jacket via his pulverized heart.  I stood up and looked down into his eyes as I replaced the gun with the notebook.

“Overconfident creepy cocksucker,” I smiled. “What the fuck would you have done with the erotic stories of Charles Darwin anyway?”

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