Trojan Plot

I gave the signal then stood back to watch the magic happen.
Yusuf Khan, AKA “The Twat”, as I liked to call him, stepped out of the exclusive ‘massage parlour’ without a care in the world. The Twat was his number two, he literally had the freedom of the country. He could, and often did, strike with impunity. His lack of conscience was intriguing. Genuine psychopaths are rarer than you might think. I’ve always seen them as the next step, evolutionary speaking of course. I disliked this man with a passion, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t find him interesting.
He was about to make a humongous mistake, hopefully – you see, Mr Khan, it was rumoured, was the only person in the entire country who knew the exact whereabouts of the Tyrant. Half of the Tyrants you saw on Television were doubles, surgically altered and the such – they literally lived and died at his discretion, sometimes they were murdered…mistaken identity was a risk for these men. They knew it, they didn’t have a choice – Khan was my only hope. This had to work.
The Ifrit, wearing the skin of a young boy, nodded back to me from across the promenade, stepping out of the doorway of a shuttered coffee house.
I couldn’t look away, the suspense was really drawing me in. Reality drama at its best.
The Twat pulled a cigarette from the inside of his military jacket and set off walking toward the innocuous little boy, devilishly grinning, suspiciously even.
I tried to signal the Ifrit, tried telling him to stop it before-
It didn’t matter, too late. The Twat must have got spooked by the child, freakishly drooling, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking, walking like a fucking demented chicken, towards him.
The Ifrit had fucking blown it! I stepped out from my cover, pissed, as The Twat turned away from the Freak and headed towards me, that was when I realised he wasn’t alone. Two ‘regular’ looking men, a little on the ragged side if I’m honest, mirrored the Twat’s change in direction, they were watching him too, guarding him actually. They were also watching the Ifrit, in fact, a lot of attention was being drawn toward the Ifrit. The situation really was getting out of control. I noticed weapons were now drawn. There was a lot more than two on his protective detail. They were everywhere. These fucking Arabs weren’t half a bunch of paranoid fuckers! But what do they say? It’s not being paranoid if the whole world is out to get you.
I suppose in this instance, it was partly true. Again, I found myself tipping my metaphorical hat to the Twat.
The Ifrit had been made, he had suddenly gone from being an asset to a liability. He knew everything: the safehouse, my plan (sort of), my arsenal. I made the choice that needed to be made and let the Twat brush past me, unharmed, whilst I drew the holy lance.
The Ifrit goggled onward, oblivious to the attention he was making, oblivious to the spear in my hand.
Like a flash of black lightning and I had jabbed the spear head through the Ifrit, the young boy, several times in quick succession.
A scream broke through the air and before I knew it the whole promenade was looking at me, horrified, me holding the smoking head of a child, his body likewise smoking on the ground.
I was surrounded, fat pistols aimed at my face. I smiled as I registered that the Twat had returned. Still the corpse of the dead Ifrit smoked. Still I held the blackening head.
Suddenly it appeared as though black wings had sprouted from the boy’s back. I was no longer holding a child’s head, I was holding the head of a horned demon. It’s skin jet-black with razor sharp teeth protruding at varying angles, like a Bat fucked a Mako shark and had babies.
The smoke had finally cleared as I let the head drop with a squelch.
Guns hesitantly lowered as the Twat stepped into the circle of death, his eyes fixed on the Spear of Destiny.
I sheathed it in to the bone-lined scabbard across my lower back, safely beneath my black robe.
‘Don’t mention it, anyone would have done the same…’ I trailed as I wiped my hand on my robe and turned to leave.
‘Mr Game, the lance-‘ hissed the Twat.
I smiled. Killing the Ifrit wasn’t my initial plan but still, it lead me here. I had just won favour with the only man who knows where he is.
Killing only leads to more death. Time for a new approach, I decided, ‘aye, it is. Come to think of it, your boss is after something like this…hmmm, maybe you should give him a call? We could go and see him together, what do you say?’

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About Henry Game

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7 responses to “Trojan Plot

  • field of thorns

    HG, so much for the Ifrit, surprising such an attachment to Henry, very odd, indeed! Obviously Henry had no attachment to said Ifrit, LOL! I’m wondering, does Henry have a true attachment to anyone? Also it’s amazing Henry seems to be a bit like the Mr. Magoo character, as things always work out for him, no matter the severity of the situation, he seems to prevail. Maybe that’s why we want him to see him succeed. So now he’s on the way to have a visit with the boss? As always captivating, and you keep me intrigued wondering what’s next for good old Henry! Enjoy the rest of your Sunday, and take good care!

    Pepper

    • Henry Game

      Hey Pep, thank you for engaging with me on this. Does Henry get attached? Maybe once upon a time, living for close to seven hundred years, losing those around you…attachments, eventually, bring loss. Living in a detached fashion can offer a life of liberal freedom. It is also lonely. Pros and cons, as with every good argument.
      Going to meet the boss eh?
      Have you figured out who he is yet?

  • ian19371

    Really interesting. Great read!

  • winfred

    Hello. I come in peace sir.
    I nominated you for a simple challenge. No pressure but it’s fun
    http://wp.me/p5Cstw-8s

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