Vengeance

from Intro

“Promise you won't laugh?” You say, feigning shame.

“Of course I won't laugh.” Jeff says, trying to sound like he cares about you.

“Ok,...” you begin, faking some trouble at making the words come to you. “See, I sort of spent last night... on a mission."

“What kind of mission?” Jeff asks, his interest actually piqued.

“Four years ago, my father was killed in an alley by a bunch of vicious gang-bangers. They killed him for the ten bucks in his wallet, and the police never have solved the case. I've been trying to get down to the bottom of it ever since the case went cold, and... there was a development last night. A big one.” You are instantly forced to suppress a giggle. You've never even met your dad, much less lost anybody in your family to gang violence. Your sister went to jail for two weeks once, but that was about the closest you came in that regard.

Jeff's eyebrow raises, towards his shiny bald spot. You wonder idly for a second if Jeff has been putting Turtle Wax on that bald spot, because it has a pretty spectacular shine. But that's besides the point, and you focus on the matter at hand.

“Last night, I found the man who murdered my father.” You say, trying to sound distant and tough as you do so. This includes doing your best imitation of a thousand yard stare, which doesn't seem to go well. Jeff surely won't be buying this, will he?

Jeff's face turns to one of shock. “Well... what did you do? Did you... uh... you know... kill him ?”

You shake your head instantly. “No, he got away. But tonight I need to finish this, before he can escape.”

Jeff nods solemnly, “Let me help.”

Now it's your turn to be shocked. Seriously? “No... I'm good.” You say, now wondering why you simply didn't admit that you were just up late drinking.

“Danielle, you're five foot one, and you might weigh 98 pounds. A stiff breeze would kick your ass. Let me help you, I'm a big guy.” Jeff said, sounding very insistent.

 “You have 3 inches on me, and besides, I played years of field hockey. Also, have a gun.” You spit out without thinking. It isn't until after the last statement slips out that you realize that not only do you not have a firearm of any type, you have never held or fired a gun, and have no knowledge of them apart from watching Die Hard with your girlfriend during your brief foray into lesbianism.

“Oh, what kind?” He asks. Shit.

“Uh, I don't know what it's called. It's a pistol.”

“Which caliber?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;font-style:normal">“... all of them?” You respond, feeling this conversation getting away from you. If this conversation gets any weirder, you might have to pretend to be on your period and run to the bathroom crying.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;font-style:normal">“Danny, I am left with two thoughts here. The first is that you're lying to me about why you're sleeping after work, in which case I have to write you up and maybe fire you, since this is like... your twelfth time doing that in three weeks. The other possibility is that you really are trying to avenge your dad, and are scared and need my help. What is it?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Well, what is it?


 * <p style="margin-bottom:0in">To 'fess up, go to CONFESS 
 * <p style="margin-bottom:0in">To go continue the lie, go to CONTINUE