Pops had played the Orpheum Circuit. Dad, every casino in the world. He used to say he raised no fools, but I’m afraid I might be proving him wrong.
One job, Jones said, one spectacular con. If not for your country, then for a clean rap sheet and a new identity, they said.
With the city spread at my feet, and a mess of brains and blood spread on the wallpaper behind me, I sure hope that is Jones approaching. He thinks he knows me. He thinks he’s prepared for anything from me.
I decide when the con is over.
***********************************
Now, your turn.
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Never underestimate a woman who can handle a long-barrel .44 Magnum.
The foot bone’s connected to the ankle bone; the ankle bone’s connected to the shin bone; the shin bone’s connected to the knee bone; the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone; the thigh bone’s connected to the gap bone (– mind the gap! –); the gap bone’s connected to the gat bone (– mind the gat! –); the gat bone’s connected to the finger bone; the finger bone’s connected to the revenge bone; the revenge bone’s connected to the grudge bone; the grudge bone’s connected to the done-bad bone; the done bad bone’s connected to the . . . now hear the word of the Lord.
If she keeps her finger on the trigger like that, she’s going to blow her own foot off.
[…] Fiction picked up this week from Darleen at protein wisdom and Smitty at The Other McCain. They seem to have hunted down similar trails, but different ones […]
True, but it’s uncocked, and so slightly less easy to fire accidentally.
If it were single-action, the finger on the trigger would be both harmless and pointless.
She’s clearly a multiple action, and if uncocked at the moment, plentifully cocked before . . .
. . . oh, you’re speaking of the gun. Sorry.
Fishnets.
Ick.
I know, Fish. It may be due to my years as a weekly attendee of midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but I haven’t really been able to picture fishnets as something a woman wears.
Unless she also wears a sequin-covered, multicolored top hat.
A motherless fish is the saddest fish of all.
And to think your mother was snatched from you by a lesbian seagull.
Oh, the irony.
Fishnets? Don’t you recognize the scales of the Incredible Lizard Woman?
the fishnets? nice diversion. i be part of the proggtardia. i wreck the train. for the baracky. me be gay activist. i harm you. losers.
I suppose the advice “Don’t get your panties in a bunch” would be too late?
She’s got no arse, is not curvaceous, and is too damn thin [like a fourteen year old boy] – nope…that’s not a pic of a broad after murdering me in the future.
I like this feature.
helloiamamotherlessfish,
Fishnets.
Ick.
Huh? Oh, I get it. That was clever.
BT,
Ditto.
I once bought a set of fishnets and garters for my ex- (5’11”, 135lb, long, long legs and very shapely posterior). She thought she looked ridiculous, but I thought she looked amazing.
The murderous sex robot looked out at the city as she accessed libraries of data concerning postmodern feminist movements.
Was she a feminist? She’d violently killed 9,462 horny mans!
Certainly that qualified, and yet the data refused to neatly validate her endeavor.
The work of a small number of feminist thinkers suggested that her homicidal behaviour, filtered through certain neo-liberal lenses, could be interpreted as a subtle form of sociopathy.
“Oh, pickles,” she thought, and then it occurred to her that is may simply be the violence of her actions that were failing to align with core directives.
“Poison, then.”
oops
that *it* may simply be i mean
McGehee, could be a .357. Still a lot of gun for a skinny girl though.
eCurmudgeon, that there’s a revolver, needs around eight pounds of pull to make it go boom. You be sure to always drive with your hands at 10 and 2 now, lest you crash your car…
I think you’re likely right, Lee. If her hands were as big as mine it would have to be a .44, but her hands are probably a good bit smaller.
Sally looked down upon the city she so despised and thought to herself, “Man, I heard of high-tech but this place is all high-tack.” How she hated Astroturf glued onto sidewalks and the sound of thousands of slot machines and the whole time she knew pervs were looking upward to see her underwear but Sally just laughed and laughed, she has them all fooled she’s going commando and her ass really is that red.
It took her 11 years to find hm.
3 more months to work her way into his confidence. Another week of graphic phone calls and sexts to complete the final seduction.
But it hadn’t felt like she’d thought it would.
He hadn’t recognized her. Never made the connection. Didn’t see the face of a terrified little nine-year-old girl when he’d looked into her smoky brown eyes. Not that he spend a lot of time looking at her eyes.
She‘d savored seeing the same look of terror in his eyes that had been in her own that night, so long ago.
Through the transparent platform, her stilettoes vibrated with each blow of the battering ram. She heard the deafening shouts of the men she knew were here to stop her. Up was no option. Out was lost as well. Only down.
The high caliber bullet shattered her support, she felt the shards biting every part of her exposed frame like ice. The landing below was not what she would have preferred but at least she was still mostly mobile. “Why the FUCK
would you put cast iron out here while looking at this?!” Being trained to never let go, she didn’t.