A while back, I decided to write a novel. Then I decided I'd do it in serial form, on my website. That means I can write a chapter here and there as I want to, and you can read it as this wonderful drama unfolds! Enjoy!
There was a tremendous crash, and William flew through the glass window, landing heavily on the lawn outside. He staggered to his feet, glaring through the smashed window, trying to focus on John. He caught a glimpse of his nemesis moving towards the window frame.
"Hey!" he called indignantly. "I paid £1000 for these windows to be put in, and I didn't do it so you could smash them by throwing me through!"
"The point I'm trying to make," hissed John, "is that if you'd consulted my window company, it would have cost you a great deal less!"
"Would it," said William, the absence of a question mark in his sentence suggesting that he didn't really care.
"Oh, yes," said John. "But because you didn't listen to me, you're going to have to die."
"Am I," said William, again neglecting to insert any inflection into his speech.
"Yes," said John, and pulled out a revolver. He pointed it threateningly in William's direction, who merely smiled. "You're supposed to be frightened," John pointed out, clearly annoyed.
"I am," said William. "I'm just very stoic."
"Yeah, well, you're gonna be more stoic than you've ever been before in a minute," said John. He was well aware that this retort didn't make a great deal of sense, but it wasn't in his job description to be witty. John's sense of humour extended to pretending he worked for window companies and discussing their merits with people he was about to kill. He was always surprised when such people responded to such conversations (and in cases like William's, even start them). It pleased him when this happened, almost to the extent that he wouldn't kill them.
Almost.
He squeezed the trigger and William collapsed insensate on the ground. A green jewel rolled out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and William, catching a glance of it, seized a heavy lawn ornament and brought it smashing heavily down on the jewel.
"You can kill me," he said, grinning as he died, "but you'll never get the prize now."
John was not pleased, but he was too much of a professional to allow such setbacks to provoke him into wasting more bullets on someone who would die anyway. He ran over to the lawn ornament and tried to shift it, to see how much damage had been done to the jewel. It was powdered to dust.
He snarled briefly to himself, then wondered exactly what it would look like if a member of the LA Police Department was caught snarling.
He heard a sound behind him. He spun to see three policemen aiming their guns at him.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded the first.
John reached into his back pocket. This'll show 'em! he exulted to himself.
He flashed his ID card in the lead cop's face. The policeman lowered his gun.
"Sorry, sir," he said. "We weren't informed."
"Don't worry," said Detective Inspector John Hobson. "Now, we need to find out where this thief -" he gestured in William's direction "- stashed the real jewel. This one was fake. The real wouldn't be destroyed that easily."
"You tracked down William Brownson, the jewel thief?" the other policeman queried, incredulously.
"Yes," said John. "Pity he wouldn't come quietly. I had to kill him to stop him killing me."
"We've all been there," the other policeman reassured him.
"We'd best search his whole house," John decided. "You go upstairs with one of your boys. I'll take the other of your men and check downstairs."
"Very well, sir," said the other policeman.
No sooner had John entered the living room than a gunshot rang out. The junior policeman he had brought with him to check downstairs sank to the floor, with barely a moan. John retreated out of potential gunsight, when something about the fallen body of the other policeman astonished him ...
To be continued ...