Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
MasonBradford
Planetoid
- Joined
- May 22, 2017
Brian Johnson heard the knock at his door. He was an obnoxiously good-looking man, in his mid-30s, optimistic about the prospects of a new life in a new city.
He calmly walked through his Manhattan skyrise apartment and opened the door with a polite smile.
“Oh, uh, are you Brian?”
It was the shorter of the two men who asked. Both wore blue jeans and tucked-in polo shirts with their company’s logo on the pocket.
Johnson just nodded curtly, and eyed the large box they balanced precariously on an industrial dolly.
“Yep. And that’s my new TV, right?” he said in a friendly tone, and cocked his head back for a moment. “You can just set it in the den, up against the wall, across from the sofa.”
“Ah, I see. Thanks,” the taller mover replied, and both rolled the container across the hardwood floor, into the bright, airy living space with the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of the New York skyline.
“Wow!” the short guy gasped, his eyes nearly bulging from his head as he stared. “This is a really nice place ya got here! What do you do for a living, man?!”
The taller one frowned, and hissed quietly, “Dude, c’mon, that’s rude. Just do your job.” They set the edges of the television box on the floor.
Brian just smiled again, and shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m actually kinda in a transition now. I might try writing, or maybe photography.”
The shorter guy raised an eyebrow as he released the tension on the moving straps across the length of the box. “You don’t look old enough to retire, so you must’ve made some real cheese, bro. What the hell did you do before? Or are you some kind of trust-fund kid?”
The taller man scowled. “Seriously, Joe, shut up,” he said in a harsh whisper to his coworker.
Brian looked down for a moment, and ran a hand through his shortish, curly brown hair. His snug-fitting hoodie hung on his well-built frame over his own pair of beat-up blue jeans.
“I was a paramilitary contractor.”
The taller guest grunted slightly as he was able to slide the dolly base out from under the box, now leaving its bottom completely on the floorboards.
Joe stood up, abruptly, and eyed Brian.
“So… you killed people?”
Joe’s companion slowly placed his hands on his hips and stared at him with intense disapproval, like a mother whose child just made everyone gasp at a funeral.
Brian stood resolute, unmoving.
“Yes. I killed people.”
“Joe, c’mon,” the other man said under his breath. “We should go.”
“No, no,” Joe said, speaking quickly, with a half-smirk. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious, y’know? Like, I bet you used to go into some real messed-up places, and kill some real nasties out there, and now you’re trying to move on, and get out of the game, right? So, I’m just thinkin’ — are you afraid any of them will come for you? Here? You must’ve pissed off a lot of folks. Ruined lives. Separated families, am I right?”
The taller man’s jaw dropped. “What the hell, Joe?!” he seethed.
But Joe stared at Brian.
And Brian stared back.
“Look, um…”
Brian sighed, a little, and looked out the window at the skyline. After a moment of awkward silence in the room, he turned back to Joe, and spoke in a slightly lower, slower tone.
“You’ve both given me a full view of yourselves during this delivery, without getting a good look at me. So I know that neither of you has a gun on you, while neither of you know that I have a Glock 9-millimeter pistol in my back waistband. I am capable of drawing it, disengaging the safety, and firing a single shot into each of your skulls within a span of about two seconds. Neither of you has bothered to place yourself within six feet of decent cover, and whatever you do, I am able to start reacting to your movements within nine milliseconds. So unless you have superpowers or alien technology, I have no reason for any fear.”
Joe’s mouth opened, but no reply emerged.
Brian smiled.
“I’ll continue: Maybe if my gun jams, you have a chance. However, I have fired this weapon exactly 34 times — enough to get a feel for its operating thresholds, but not enough to wear on the moving parts significantly. The chance of a jam is near-zero, statistically insignificant. But maybe you think the overall risk-reward calculation is in your favor, since I am trying to start a new life here and may not want to take the chance of being discovered with two corpses in my apartment. In that case, you should know that I am also renting the spaces above, below, and across from this unit, for the sole purpose of reducing the likelihood of anyone hearing gunshots. In this room. If I ever needed such discretion. So, even in that scenario, I am truly not worried about discharging an unsilenced firearm.”
Joe’s coworker raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Look, sir, we’re just going to go ahead and go now — ”
But Brian kept speaking.
“Your most ideal hope is that I’m lying about the gun. I’m not, but let’s say that I am. Let’s even say that you both have a knife concealed on you. In this case, you are looking at a two-on-one fight, armed, against a barehanded opponent. I have been in worse conditions for a fight, and clearly I have escaped with my health. You have lost the advantage of surprise. My advantage lies in the fact that you have to go for lethal blows — meaning that your striking movements will be predictable, and I can defend accordingly. Even with two of you, even if you were trained killers, and even if you were armed while I was not, I am confident in my odds. The only element that could make me nervous is if you had a flashbang strapped to the inside of the box that you could pop, or if there was someone hidden inside that box with his own gun pointed at me. If that was the plan, I would just have to wonder why he hasn’t fired yet. And if I really thought there was a chance a combat-ready human being could be hidden in that box that is only ten inches deep, I would have never let you in. Actually, you know what…”
Brian frowned, and scratched his chin.
“There could still be a gun in the box, activated remotely… and maybe it could, hm…” he mumbled to himself, clearly thinking.
“Okay, uh, yeah, we’re gonna go,” Joe sputtered, and walked briskly around the box on the floor, joining his coworker. Neither even bothered to look back as they practically jogged to the door and exited.
Brian Johnson just chuckled, and shook his head.
…
He did kinda stare at the box for a minute, though, before he went to find something to slice it open with.
He calmly walked through his Manhattan skyrise apartment and opened the door with a polite smile.
“Oh, uh, are you Brian?”
It was the shorter of the two men who asked. Both wore blue jeans and tucked-in polo shirts with their company’s logo on the pocket.
Johnson just nodded curtly, and eyed the large box they balanced precariously on an industrial dolly.
“Yep. And that’s my new TV, right?” he said in a friendly tone, and cocked his head back for a moment. “You can just set it in the den, up against the wall, across from the sofa.”
“Ah, I see. Thanks,” the taller mover replied, and both rolled the container across the hardwood floor, into the bright, airy living space with the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of the New York skyline.
“Wow!” the short guy gasped, his eyes nearly bulging from his head as he stared. “This is a really nice place ya got here! What do you do for a living, man?!”
The taller one frowned, and hissed quietly, “Dude, c’mon, that’s rude. Just do your job.” They set the edges of the television box on the floor.
Brian just smiled again, and shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m actually kinda in a transition now. I might try writing, or maybe photography.”
The shorter guy raised an eyebrow as he released the tension on the moving straps across the length of the box. “You don’t look old enough to retire, so you must’ve made some real cheese, bro. What the hell did you do before? Or are you some kind of trust-fund kid?”
The taller man scowled. “Seriously, Joe, shut up,” he said in a harsh whisper to his coworker.
Brian looked down for a moment, and ran a hand through his shortish, curly brown hair. His snug-fitting hoodie hung on his well-built frame over his own pair of beat-up blue jeans.
“I was a paramilitary contractor.”
The taller guest grunted slightly as he was able to slide the dolly base out from under the box, now leaving its bottom completely on the floorboards.
Joe stood up, abruptly, and eyed Brian.
“So… you killed people?”
Joe’s companion slowly placed his hands on his hips and stared at him with intense disapproval, like a mother whose child just made everyone gasp at a funeral.
Brian stood resolute, unmoving.
“Yes. I killed people.”
“Joe, c’mon,” the other man said under his breath. “We should go.”
“No, no,” Joe said, speaking quickly, with a half-smirk. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious, y’know? Like, I bet you used to go into some real messed-up places, and kill some real nasties out there, and now you’re trying to move on, and get out of the game, right? So, I’m just thinkin’ — are you afraid any of them will come for you? Here? You must’ve pissed off a lot of folks. Ruined lives. Separated families, am I right?”
The taller man’s jaw dropped. “What the hell, Joe?!” he seethed.
But Joe stared at Brian.
And Brian stared back.
“Look, um…”
Brian sighed, a little, and looked out the window at the skyline. After a moment of awkward silence in the room, he turned back to Joe, and spoke in a slightly lower, slower tone.
“You’ve both given me a full view of yourselves during this delivery, without getting a good look at me. So I know that neither of you has a gun on you, while neither of you know that I have a Glock 9-millimeter pistol in my back waistband. I am capable of drawing it, disengaging the safety, and firing a single shot into each of your skulls within a span of about two seconds. Neither of you has bothered to place yourself within six feet of decent cover, and whatever you do, I am able to start reacting to your movements within nine milliseconds. So unless you have superpowers or alien technology, I have no reason for any fear.”
Joe’s mouth opened, but no reply emerged.
Brian smiled.
“I’ll continue: Maybe if my gun jams, you have a chance. However, I have fired this weapon exactly 34 times — enough to get a feel for its operating thresholds, but not enough to wear on the moving parts significantly. The chance of a jam is near-zero, statistically insignificant. But maybe you think the overall risk-reward calculation is in your favor, since I am trying to start a new life here and may not want to take the chance of being discovered with two corpses in my apartment. In that case, you should know that I am also renting the spaces above, below, and across from this unit, for the sole purpose of reducing the likelihood of anyone hearing gunshots. In this room. If I ever needed such discretion. So, even in that scenario, I am truly not worried about discharging an unsilenced firearm.”
Joe’s coworker raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Look, sir, we’re just going to go ahead and go now — ”
But Brian kept speaking.
“Your most ideal hope is that I’m lying about the gun. I’m not, but let’s say that I am. Let’s even say that you both have a knife concealed on you. In this case, you are looking at a two-on-one fight, armed, against a barehanded opponent. I have been in worse conditions for a fight, and clearly I have escaped with my health. You have lost the advantage of surprise. My advantage lies in the fact that you have to go for lethal blows — meaning that your striking movements will be predictable, and I can defend accordingly. Even with two of you, even if you were trained killers, and even if you were armed while I was not, I am confident in my odds. The only element that could make me nervous is if you had a flashbang strapped to the inside of the box that you could pop, or if there was someone hidden inside that box with his own gun pointed at me. If that was the plan, I would just have to wonder why he hasn’t fired yet. And if I really thought there was a chance a combat-ready human being could be hidden in that box that is only ten inches deep, I would have never let you in. Actually, you know what…”
Brian frowned, and scratched his chin.
“There could still be a gun in the box, activated remotely… and maybe it could, hm…” he mumbled to himself, clearly thinking.
“Okay, uh, yeah, we’re gonna go,” Joe sputtered, and walked briskly around the box on the floor, joining his coworker. Neither even bothered to look back as they practically jogged to the door and exited.
Brian Johnson just chuckled, and shook his head.
…
He did kinda stare at the box for a minute, though, before he went to find something to slice it open with.