BEGINNING OF STORY
PREVIOUS (PART 20)

“Are you all right?”
“I didn’t even get a scratch.”
Detective Thompson leaned back from the controls of her vehicle and looked me in the eyes. “I mean, you shot a woman point-blank in the face.”
I shot a lot of people. Seemed to me it was sexist that I would be expected to feel more guilty about killing a woman than killing a man. Apparently Blondie wasn’t a feminist, so it was time for me to tread carefully. That meant saying as little as possible. “She was about to shoot me; I try not to think about it.” I then leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes.
The Detective was not about to let me off that easy. “That was quite some shooting, though; I’ve never seen anyone use two guns at once– outside of movies.”
Translation: Why can some cop on some backwater planet shoot like that? I regaled her of how I spent years mastering “point shooting” – shooting without using the gun’s sights to aim – until I could fire quickly and accurately with both hands. I even added a little spiel about how the small amount of time saved by having a gun in my left hand to shoot at someone to my left could mean the difference between life and death. She just nodded the whole time.
Was she buying it? Probably not, as it seemed all the previous statements were just leading up to what she said next. “You seemed quite focused while in the fire fight – had quite an interesting expression on your face.”
Oh no… was I smiling? I tend to smile slightly when I’m shooting – I know I do it; it’s just never usually an issue.
But did she even see my face while I was shooting? Or was she just acting like she knew something to see my reaction?
This woman was making me paranoid. It was just getting too mentally taxing; such effort, and she still seemed to suspect me of something. I vowed to start looking for a good ditch to dump her body in after I got what information I could from her. And I wanted that done soon. Yet another woman I’d be shooting point-blank in the face.
Had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy with her, though.
“I really don’t feel like talking about this right now, Detective,” I told her with annoyance – since I was quite annoyed.
“We’ve already been through enough together that you really should stop referring to me so formally… Officer.”
I looked to her, and she had a cute smile as she looked back.
I really didn’t care for that smile right now. “Should I call you ‘Tommy-gun?'”
The smile didn’t go away. “Friends call me Diane.”
Well, am I your friend or your suspect, Diane?
I wasn’t really angry at her, though. Now that this terrorist hunt was over, my mind was back to my main mission. Maybe I’d get some good information from her about Senator Gredler and why they know a hit is coming, but that still didn’t change the feeling of unease I had about this job.
Was it because it looked to be a suicide mission? I wish the explanation was that simple, but I couldn’t place my hesitation. This was about the most emotional I could ever remember being.
“Rico,” Diane called out, her voice full of concern – real concern, “if something is the matter, you can tell me about it. It will be just between you and me.”
“It’s complicated,” I volunteered for some reason. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it later.” Just before I kill you – if only out of curiosity of what your expression will be.
“Hopefully we can find out soon what’s happened with stopping the plot at Roppola Plaza. You’re a real hero, Rico. I’m sorry I put you in this situation, but you saved a lot of lives.”
Sorta wished I could care. Yes, I had just used my powers of death-dealing to better the universe, but, whether I killed a sinner or a saint, it was all just a twitch of the finger in the end.
Our vehicle now landed exactly where no hitman ever wants to be: Police Headquarters.
NEXT