Farlough sat cross-legged, facing the wall. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a sound. His hood was pulled down farther than normal. Unseen by Tony, his eyebrow twitched angrily.
Tony folded his arms. “You can’t stay there forever.”
No answer.
“Even if you stay there until you die, I can still move your body an inch to the left to prove my -”
“Don’t say another word.”
Tony fell silent.
Farlough straightened ever so slightly, but just enough so that Tony could see his cheek behind his hood. “I’m not in a joking mood,” Farlough said.
“Me neither.”
“You can at least be quiet, like I told you,” snapped Farlough, slumping over again. As he shifted, his hood slid partly back, revealing his left ear. He quickly pulled the cloth back over. But before that, Tony saw a blonde streak amidst the tangled mass of brown hair.
“What’s with the blonde?”
“What’s with the blonde what?”
“Hair. I saw it.”
Farlough grunted. “It’s a long story,” he said pointedly, wanting to end the discussion.
Tony continued anyway. “Enlighten me.”
Farlough stood up quickly, balling his hands. “I told you to keep your trap shut. Why don’t you listen?”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Farlough spun around, slammed his fist down on the table, and roared, “SHUT UP! I can’t STAND this! YOU try getting banished from your planet for the rest of YOUR life!”
Tony’s coffee rattled.
Farlough froze. “Act normal,” he mouthed.
“You know what,” said Tony, rising from his seat, “I’ve extended all this hospitality to you, driven you all over the place, believed your fantasy worlds, and what do you do? You bang all over the walls and tables, you -”
“It was just the table.”
“- knock over my coffee, you -”
“I didn’t knock it over, idiot.”
“- call me names -”
“I thought ‘idiot’ was an endearing term.”
“- and you are REALLY getting on my nerves. I should just throw you out of the house right now!” He backhanded Farlough’s cheek.
Farlough staggered back, seemingly winded by the blow. He landed in an armchair and tipped it back, rolling into a crouch while driving his knife into the back of the chair.
Tony stood stock-still, confused.
Farlough grinned. “I think we had him going there for a while.”
“Had who going?”
Farlough lifted up the chair and Tony peered underneath.
A man. A man with a hole in his chest.
“What . . . how did you . . .”
“Good acting, by the way.”
“Acting? I wasn’t acting!”
“Ah, that explains the sincerity.”
Tony drew his gun and pointed it at Farlough’s neck. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”
Farlough obeyed.
“I’m still mad at you, you know,” said Tony, squeezing the trigger.
The recoil brought his arm up a few inches, but Farlough didn’t flinch as the bullet skimmed past his neck and slammed into the brain of second intruder.
“Jeepers, dude. I can’t believe you would scare me like that. And I think there’s a red mark on my neck now.”
“Good,” replied Tony, turning away. “You deserved it.”
Farlough placed his hand on his chest and said innocently, “Me?”
“Yes, you. That was my favorite chair. And I think you’re endangering me by coming here. Apparently somebody wants you dead, and they won’t let someone like me stand in their way.”
“Hardly. They were unarmed.”
Tony scowled and grabbed the man behind the chair, lifting him up by his limp leg. He ripped off the man’s oversized boot. A few small grenades fell out, and Tony caught them before they hit the ground.
“I think they were suicidal,” he said. “You’re lucky they didn’t kick you.”
Farlough snorted. “Kick me? No, they were after you. Do you owe a bunch of money to somebody?”
“Not that I know of . . .”
“Exactly. Let’s get out of here.”
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