Story snippet


The doorbell rang at ten twelve. No way in hell that it was our contact from Mizumo Fishing Industries; he had told us that he had a busy schedule and that he couldn’t arrive before ten forty-five or so. I looked at Marc, I nodded, he nodded, and we both went rooting around in our desks. I came up with a nice .45, and he had various sharp- looking bits of metal, so I figured we were ready for business. One of the disadvantages of having a snazzy frosted glass door with your business name painted on it, in nice and stylish Times New Roman lettering, is the complete impossibility of installing a standard peephole. One of these days, we’d get around to installing a state-of- the-art camera system complete with a closed-circuit TV, so that we could scope out our visitor before going to the door. Right after I picked up that new place and home theater system, probably.

 

As it was, I had to fling the door open, grab the girl’s mouth with one hand, and haul her inside. Kicking the door shut, I pressed the gun to her temple and said, “What, you thought it would work again, huh? Nobody pulls the same trick on me twice…”

 

Marc was looking at me strangely, and I glanced down at my captive. She wasn’t wearing a sailor fuku. Hell, she probably wasn’t even a magical girl. What she did appear to be was: sixteen, cute in a sort of frumpy way, and about to go insane with fear. She looked like your typical teen nerd. From her glasses down to the clothing she wore, a simple black t-shirt with the words “I heart guns” on the front and a pair of blue jeans. Her hair was arranged in a thick brown braid that fell between her shoulder blades. What was her complexion? What most African Americans refer to as ‘light skinned’…. Gosh, that’s embarrassing it makes me look like I’m paranoid; which I am, and an idiot, which I’m not( unless you ask Marc). I released her and sat back down, careful to keep the gun trained on her. After all, just because she didn’t have a wand out in plain sight didn’t mean she didn’t have a wand.

 

“Sorry about that.” I gestured with the gun, and she took a seat on an overturned garbage can. “You’ve got exactly one minute to explain what you’re doing here and why.”

 

The girl explained her predicament. “I, um, I need some help. People told me that you knew what you were doing..”

 

I shrugged. “We normally work by appointment only. You have a magical girl problem?”

 

“Uh-huh…”

 

Oi, vei, please don’t let it be one of those problems where a magical girl is fated to spend eternity with this chick’s boyfriend. We’d run into one of those, almost a year ago, and when things were finally over… the magical girl in question was dead, as well as five or six of her cohorts, but the guy swore off women and became a monk, and our client was so depressed that she hung herself and stiffed us on our fee. See what kind of collateral damage these girls make? I put down the gun. Aiming weapons at potential clients was a serious social gaffe.

 

“Details, please.”

 

She fiddled with the thick braid of brown hair. “Um… it started a couple of weeks ago. I was watching the fight between those monsters and the troops in Columbus…”

 

I immediately decided that she was crazy. Nobody watches fights with monsters anymore; they’re too common and every so often a bystander gets hit.

 

“I got hit with something, some kind of beam whatever from one of the magical girls that showed up. I thought, figures, right, you’re dead now, Aisha… Right before I grey out, somebody bends over me, mumbles something, and I’m all fixed… sorta.”

 

“Sorta?” I questioned.

 

Marc hadn’t put down his knife. I think his encounter last night had left him more twitchy than usual. Funny how it relaxed most people…she continued.

 

“Here, um, I’ll show you. Just watch, okay?”

 

She stood up, turned around, and pulled something out of her pocket. It wasn’t a little pink wand with a heart on it, like I was half- expecting. It was a nicely maintained Maglite, and when she flicked it on, it had a pinkish beam. I flatly refuse to describe the next thirty seconds. After all, we are talking a standard magical girl transformation here, and doubtless you’ve seen them a million times before. The end result, though, that I’ll describe. She still had the thick brown braid and glasses. The white and blue fuku was new, though, and somehow she’d acquired a headband during the process. Not to mention bodily changes. She must have grown ten centimeters… oh, and she was taller, too.

 

What can I say? These are the things that I noticed.

 

“They… they turned you into a magical girl?” I stated. My jaw was hanging, and not just because of the view. The very thought of being -involuntarily- converted into one of those hellions was rather disturbing. I hadn’t thought it was possible, myself.

 

“Um… yeah. I didn’t ask for it, honest. I just wanted a look at the guns! I mean, everybody has a hobby, right?” She said the last part real quickly with a hint of embarrassment reaching her voice.

 

I nodded dumbly, before letting her continue.

 

“Everybody says that you guys are the best for taking care of magical girl problems… can you help me out?”

 

This was bad. Really bad. I began, “Look… Aisha, was it? You do know how we take care of magical girl problems, right?” She looked at me, but she obviously didn’t understand. I picked up my gun, pulled back the slide, and ejected a bullet from the chamber. She understood that.

 

“Um, yeah, okay, I’m willing to try that…” She screwed her eyes shut after saying this, she looked really pitiful. I had told Marc that he shouldn’t smoke. It was going to kill him, I said. Our line of work was dangerous enough, I said. He never believed me, not until his cigarette fell out of his mouth and set fire to the clutter on his desk. Between the three of us, we managed to get the fire put out before it did anything more than attractively scorch the faux wood finish. Still, though, it was a hell of a shock. Even for me. I spoke once more.

 

“Let me get this straight… you want us to kill you?” I wasn’t prepared for this. Really.

 

Aisha nodded, before speaking once again. “I don’t think I can live like this. I’m not into the whole ‘sweetness and light’ thing, you know? I want to join the Army National Guard, not the armies of goodness.”

Briefly, I considered how good life would be if they all did this sort of thing at the beginning. It’d save us a hell of a lot of legwork. On the other hand, though, nobody would pay us to sit around and shoot them as they came. Which reminded me…

 

“Okay, no problem. Our fee is five thousand, up front. You have it on you?”

 

I must admit, I was rather pleased when she turned grey before giving me a reply. “Five thousand? I’ve only got three hundred tops, and that’s in my savings!”

 

Marc shrugged in reply and I continued, “Yeah, we can’t kill you unless you can pay the fee. We’d feel bad, you know?” Hell, I probably would, too. In the mean time she was panicking and seemed to be on the verge of tearing her hair out as she said.

 

“I can’t get that kind of money!”

 

“Work for us.” Another voice reminded us that Aisha and I weren’t the only ones in the room. I hadn’t said that. I stared at Marc, and he returned the stare with an “it sounded like a good idea at the time” look. The prospect immediately brightened her and the amount of enthusiasm she replied with shocked me.

 

“What? I never thought of that… you mean I’d get to kill magical girls?”

 

“Well, yes, that’s the general idea.” Marc said. 

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    • corbinmacklin
    • August 3rd, 2013

    You obviously insane bruh. That is all

    Like

    • CJ
    • August 3rd, 2013

    Great so far!

    Like

    • Tasha Morrow-Nevels
    • August 3rd, 2013

    Great job!!!! I love it!

    Like

    • kittenwitclawz
    • August 4th, 2013

    You know I think you are an amazing writer. This particular story has your style in every snippet I have read so far. I want a copy, an autographed copy when this is published.

    Like

  1. Good work! It’s refreshing to read fictional writings of a black male! Keep it up!

    Like

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