Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Getting the Message)

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Private detective Tom Mahon has just pulled a gun on the questionably scented—and questioningly  scenting—bruiser who walked into his agency, claiming to have a message for the brother of Bryan Mahon.

The bruiser in question (sorry, couldn’t help it) has just referred to our hero as “prey”.

I didn’t skip anything.  Tom is speaking first:

Bullet

“Say your piece.”

His leg muscles bunched underneath him and he grinned with bigger teeth than should’ve fit into his mouth. “It ain’t that kind of message.”

He leapt. I fired twice.

He dropped, and I was over the desk and rolling him onto his stomach before he could recover. Silver rounds were too expensive for everyday self-defense, but anything shot out of a forty-five usually bought me enough time for fight or flight.

My first instinct told me to fly—but I’d been ignoring that one for a long time.

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I managed to get one or two long sentences in this one, ’cause I gotta be me.  Apparently.

By the way, those of you who know guns, please forgive me any transgressions and know that it will all be fixed once I run it past my Gun Guy,  who keeps me from embarrassing myself with caliber bloopers, nomenclature snafus, and gross violations of the laws of physics. After four or five years, it’s become clear to both of us that I shouldn’t arm my characters with anything more complicated than Louisville Sluggers.

But I think it tickles him that I keep trying.

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Psst:

The brilliantly talented  Teresa Cypher asked me to participate in a “Meet My Character” blog tour.  Her post, which offers intriguing information about Marissa Krade—who may or may not be entirely sane—can be found here.

Mine will be up tomorrow, if you’d like to know a little more about Tom.  There may also be a photo.