Holiday Man #7

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here it is! The long awaited #7!!! Sorry, it would have been here sooner, but on the day that I was going to start typing, my computer stopped working. But here it is! Friday the thirteenth II!! A really good one in my opinion.

Submitted: May 31, 2013

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Submitted: May 31, 2013

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Holiday Man woke up in his bed a week before Friday the Thirteenth. He got up and dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt. He turned on his computer while he checked for voice messages. One voice message, but it wasn’t of any importance.

He checked his e-mail. Four messages. Holiday Man sighed and sat in the chair. The first message showed little promise of entertainment and variety. Just a man who wanted his ex dead. Yawn. Delete.

The second message made him laugh. It just said the person’s name and address. No reason for the person’s death. Delete.

The third message asked Holiday Man to kill some children that were “too high pitched and annoying”. Holiday Man did not kill children. Ever. Incapacitate, yes. But never kill.

The fourth message. Holiday Man clicked it. The target was a rich man, in a mansion, and the client claimed the man had sued the client’s family for idiotic reasons and won. It had been a while since Holiday Man had a revenge case like this. It had also been a while since he had killed a rich person. He smiled. This was how he was going to spend Friday the Thirteenth. Killing a rich man , and taking money from the poor.

 

The mansion was of good taste. At least, in Holiday Man’s opinion. He would have actually considered having one like it if he didn’t mind drawing attention to himself.

The mansion was more like a castle or a fortress. But Holiday Man knew quite well that the rich spared no expenses on security, so he was on guard. His friend had hacked the security system, so all Holiday Man had to do was open the door.

And he did. The entry way was extremely spacious, with many expensive looking knick-knacks on the tables. One object however, caught Holiday Man’s eye. It was a gold and silver broadsword, like the kinds knights used to carry. It was over six feet long and had an amethyst in the cross piece. It was extremely familiar.

As usual for Friday the Thirteenth, Holiday Man was carrying the Black cat, a thirteen shot pistol, and the mirror shard knife. He didn’t have the salt gun because there wasn’t a large group of people here. The target, James Carlson, lived alone and tended to his mansion himself.

Holiday Man walked down the hallway leading to the den. But as he walked, another object caught his eye. A painting, with no other colors besides red and black, depicting a war of bloodied men in a valley.

He continued on and quietly stepped into the den. Holiday Man could see a portion of the target’s arm on the chair, but the rest of the man was hidden.

“Hello, Mr. Carlson,” Holiday Man said.

The man stood up calmly and turned around. He studied Holiday Man’s face, then smiled. “Hello, William.”

Holiday Man smiled back. “I’ll admit, James, I was a little surprised to see you rise calmly. But then the family’s sword and painting memory kicked in and I figured it was you.”

“Oh, you saw those? Yes, well, they deserve to be out in the open. How are Mom and Dad?”

Wasn’t funny the first time you asked, James.”

That’s your opinion. Do you ever miss them? I sometimes do. It was a shame we had to kill them,” James said.

“We didn’t have to kill them, James,” Holiday Man said. “We chose to do so for the money and the items. Are you still happy you got the items and I got the money?”

“Oh, yes. I think it was fair. I sold most of them for quite a fortune, but I kept the sword and the painting. They were my favorite.”

“You look as though you haven’t changed. Same black hair and tanned skin. Well, I suppose you name changed. Carlson? At least you kept James. The name suits you.”

“It was just a name I picked out of the hat. I hope you changed your name. Are you still William?” James asked.

“Yes, but my surname is no longer Reavers. Seems a little dark, and there’s enough darkness in my life as it is. True seems more light hearted.”

James looked at Holiday Man curiously. “True, eh? Do you live up to that name?”

“Most of the time I don’t tell people I’m not going to kill them. They deserve to know the truth.”

“You still kill people then?”

Holiday Man took out his sword. “I make a living of it, actually.”

James frowned. “You’re a hit man.”

“Indeed,” Holiday Man said.

“And I’m guessing you’re not here for a friendly, brotherly visit.”

“I’m afraid not, James.”

“I was wondering why you let yourself in. It’s a shame, though.”

“A bit, but not a lot.”

“Are you still hanging on to the fact that I tried to kill you after we just killed our parents?”

Holiday Man waved the Black Cat. “Very much so.”

“How did you find me?” James asked.

“Happy accident. Apparently, you sued someone for idiotic reasons and won.”

“Ah, those pesky common folk.”

I am a common folk,” Holiday Man said.

“Even with all that money?”

“I don’t much like to draw attention to myself.”

“Well,” James said, clasping his hands together, “since you’ll be trying to kill me, am I allowed to defend myself?”

“Depends on what you’ll be defending yourself with.”

“The family sword, if it’s alright with you.”

“By all means.” Holiday Man stepped aside and let James pass into the hallway. He followed and saw James take the sword from the wall. He swung it experimentally, appearing to wave it as if it had the weight of a feather.

“Are you sure you’ll let me use this? As I recall, katanas often broke after a few strikes.”

Holiday Man looked at the Black Cat. “This isn’t an old fashioned katana. It was made by a friend of mine, and it’s much stronger than a traditional Japanese katana.”

James smiled. “Should we count down, or just say go, or wait for one of us to make the first move?”

“I think it’d be a bit more realistic if we waited for one of us to strike.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping for-.” Holiday Man lunged forward, thrusting his sword towards James’s heart. James deflected it easily. Then they began circling each other.

“Was that an actual attempt or were you just getting this started?” James asked.

“The latter of the two,” Holiday Man replied.

“Good. It would have been an idiotic attempt if it were real.”

James slashed at Holiday Man’s side, but Holiday Man blocked it and went for James’s neck. James ducked and rolled to the side of Holiday Man. Holiday Man stopped the strike and flipped backwards.

“You’re a bit more agile than the last time I saw you,” James remarked.

“Well, you tend to take lessons in martial arts when you’re bored,” Holiday Man said. He tried to slash James’s legs but he blocked the Black Cat and tried to bring the broad sword down on Holiday Man’s head. Holiday Man rolled to the side and tried to jab upward at James;s chin. James staggered backwards, barely avoiding the blade. He recovered and swung his sword heavily at Holiday Man. He blocked it but the blow sent him staggering.

“Isn’t this fun?” James asked.

“It is, I must say,” Holiday Man responded.

James brought down an overhead strike, but Holiday Man dodged to the left.

“A thought just came to me,” James said.

“And what is this thought you speak of?”

“You’re a hit man, but you couldn’t be so stupid as to bring just a sword. You have a gun, don’t you?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Why haven’t you used it?”

“You’re my brother, James. I’m having a little fun before you die.”

“How... loving.”

Holiday Man went for the stomach, but James rolled to the right. He slashed at Holiday Man’s legs and Holiday Man flipped backwards again.

“This is getting nowhere,” Holiday Man said.

“I agree, but what do you suggest we do?”

“I haven’t a clue. I’m considering pulling out my gun and shooting you.”

“I wouldn’t like that.”

“No, I doubt very many people would.”

“So, shall we continue our original battle?”

“I suppose so.”

Holiday Man went with an overhead slash, but James deflected it. Holiday Man went for James’s side and James swung his sword and knocked the Black Cat out of Holiday Man’s hands.

Holiday Man looked at his sword, well out of reach. “Awww...”

“That’s a shame for you, William,” James said.

“Can I go get it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’ll have to use this.” Holiday Man took out his gun, and James knocked it across the room with his sword.

Holiday Man glared at James. “Stop that.”

“I don’t want to die, William.”

Holiday Man reached into his jacket and pulled out the mirror shard knife. He tried to stab James, but he blocked it and the knife shattered.

Holiday Man looked at the handle in his hand. “Well, drat.”

“Do you have any last requests?”

“How about you let me kill you?”

James smiled. “I’m not an idiot, William.”

“Hey, we haven’t seen each other for years. You could have become stupid over the time.”

“I can assure you, that never happened.”

“That’s both a relief and a disappointment.”

“For you it’s a disappointment. For me, it’s all relief,” James said.

Can I say one more thing, James?” Holiday Man asked.

“By all means, William.”

Holiday Man cleared his throat. “Goodbye, James.”

James smiled. “Goodb-”

That was as far James got, because Holiday Man punched him square in the face. He flew backwards breaking his neck twice. His face caved in and he lay there, dead as can be.

Holiday Man walked over to the Black Cat and picked it up. He sheathed it as he got his gun. He looked at the handle of the mirror shard knife and cursed. He’d need a replacement.

He was walking out the door when he remembered the painting. He went over and got it and walked to his hidden car.

 

Larson was sleeping when his phone rang. He cursed and sat up in bed. He answered the phone and was told about another murder. He cursed again and looked at the calendar. No holiday was indicated. It was just the thirteenth.

Wait, thirteenth rang a bell. What was that one little holiday? Friday the thirteenth! That was it.

Larson told the man on the other line that he’d be right there. He hung up and sprang out of bed. He looked at his calendar. Next holiday, next holiday... Halloween! Larson circled it. Halloween... Larson needed to prepare for it.


© Copyright 2018 The Novelist. All rights reserved.

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