I woke up, back in my bed again. I turned to face the wall. Awesome, back to not doing a damn thing. It's 5:48, said Mr. Watch. Trenchcoat must've been pretty pissed by now. He said to meet him by the coffee shop where I punched Henry at 4:30 so he could give me information about how exactly he wanted it done. Oh, well. I turned to lie flat on my back.
My stomach exploded in pain as all the wind left my lungs. I started coughing, I was also covered in water for some reason.
"I told you to be there at 4:30," said Trenchcoat,"I waited for like an hour. Not cool, man. Not cool."
"Yeah," he said putting it down and scratching his head, "kinda just popped in my head to do that. Anyway, that's what you get for standing me up, dick. And after all the trouble I went through to get you out of jail, seriously not cool."
"Why are you even here?" I asked, "I mean yeah, you're rich, you can find out where I live and all but don't you have like goons to do this kind of stuff for you?"
"Yeah I guess I could," he said, thinking about it, "but I was bored. That and I didn't really think I'd need any help dealing with a piece of **** like you. Also, this is a great way of showing you that I'm not **** around."
His tone of speach was very light, as if I'd stood him up for a movie or something. But that aside, he did have a great way of showing me that he was serious.
"Alright, anyway, what's done is done," he said lightly, "come on, get dressed. We gotta go. You've got work to do. Plus, I don't want to be here any longer. This place smells like ****."
"You're a real silver-tongued devil," I said.
"Shut up," he snapped back, completely serious, "move."
I got out of bed and put on some jeans and a hoody. Walking down the stairs from my apartment I asked "So why is it that you want me to kill Officer Simmons?"
"I don't really want to tell you," he said in his usual friendly voice.
"Awesome," I thought a moment, "so how come you're so rich?"
"Ah, well my daddy invented some amazing new mechanism that does something for something. I don't really understand it at all," he replied, "so I've just been living pretty sweet off of that."
We walked around the building to an alley in the back. The streets weren't particularly crowded today, and the alley, being an alley, was completely devoid of people. He turned around and faced me.
"Ok, you're going to go back to the same coffee shop tomorrow at 10:00 AM," he said, "that's usually when Simmons goes in for his morning coffee and muffin."
****! Having been clobbered in the stomach with a kettle, I had completely forgotten that I still hadn't had that muffin. The thought alone sent me reeling. I imagined the warm, round flakey bits breaking off as a bit into the soft pastry. I'd never tried meth before, but I was pretty sure that whatever cravings people had for the stuff were pretty comparable to how much I wanted a muffin.
Trenchcoat slapped me in the face. "Are you listening? Get that stupid look off your face," he said," anyway. you're going to go there and you're going to stab him to death."
"What?" I asked, surprised, "you want me to stab him? It can't be shooting or hitting him with a car or poisoning him or anything? It has to be stabbing?"
"Why?" I asked.
"Not gonna tell you that either," he said.
"But a coffee shop is a pretty crowded place," I said, "how am I supposed to get away?"
"I don't know, man," he said. "that's not my problem."
This was ridiculous. He wasn't kidding around. I was in a real mess.
"Great. So since you're so set on the stabbing part, is there anything specific you want me to stabbing him with?"
"Actually, yes," he said. He put his hand in his trenchcoat (I forgot to mention that he was wearing that again) and pulled out a very normal looking 8 inch kitchen knife from the same pocket that he pulled the muffin out of back in the jail. I got another pang of muffin hunger just thinking about it.
"Stab him a good three or four times with this," he said, "that should do the job real good. Here get a good feel for it."
He gave me the knife. I held it in my hand, looking at it. The knife was just the right weight. The handle felt pretty sturdy, and the blade looked crazy sharp. I had to hand it to the guy, it was a pretty sweet knife.
In one (uncharacteristically) swift motion, I lunged at Trenchcoat and lodged the knife into his chest. Blood started to line the edge of the knife and slowly trickle down his coat. He had a look of sheer surprise on his face.
"How stupid could you possibly be to give me a knife after asking me to kill a cop against my will?" I said.
I let go of the handle. He stumbled up to the wall of my apartment building and half sat, half fell down on his ****. His lips quivered like a little baby bitch. "But, but, but," he managed to say, "but how? You're supposed to be the good guy."
"You're a **** idiot. Just because I'm the main character doesn't mean I'm the good guy," I said, "I just like muffins."