film it Joe!

Put your hands up, Dolma!

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Copyright © 2011, Michael M Wayman

Someone kicks the door in and Big George walks into the room with a gun in his hand. “Put your hands up, Dolma!”

He is followed by a thin looking guy with a big suitcase. He shouts at him.

“Joe, frisk 'em for guns and tie up her fancy boyfriend!”

Joe puts down the suitcase, fumbles me, fumbles Ron and ties up Ron with black cables. But where is Midget?

“OK, Dolma! This is your trial, your trial for murder. Joe, set up the camera!”

There is a desk between Rubber Robert and me. I feel like I'm in a courtroom in the dock and Rubber Robert is the judge, jury and prosecutor. He is still pointing a gun at me.

“Dolma Shields, you are charged with murdering Big George and murdering Right Charlie. You are guilty and the penalty for murder is death. Have you anything to say before you are executed?”

“I'm not Dolma Shields and you know it. OK, I killed your brother, Right Charlie, because he wanted to kill me. But I did not kill your brother, Big George, no way.”

“I know who killed Big George and I know who killed Dolma Shields. And I'm going to tell you, Rubber Robert, right now.”

“You did the accounts for the gang, Big George was the boss and Right Charlie did the killing. You three brothers were very successful. You looked up to your brother, Big George, he was the boss, until he met Dolma Shields.”

“Big George went bananas over Dolma and you didn't like it. You were jealous. You killed Dolma, or rather you had her killed. You've never killed anybody, have you? You saw that Big George was weak. You baited a trap with a Dolma Shields look-alike, me. You had him killed. You, Rubber Robert are the murderer.”

“Ha, ha! Very clever! But it won't help you none.”

Something touches my leg, I shudder.

“Ha, ha! 'fraid are you? Nothing like a bit of fear to add to the fun.”

Midget presses a gun into my left hand, my gun.

“I'm really going to enjoy this. And everybody is going to know that I killed you. 'cus I'm having it all filmed. That's Joe's job. No more softy, softy. It's Robert the hard guy. See the video!”

He turns to Joe and lowers his gun. “Is it rolling, Joe?”

I put three shots into his chest, he has no chance. He lets two shots go – they ricochet off the floor and past my ears.

I walk round the desk and prise the gun from his warm, dead hand.

Joe puts his hands in the air. “Please don't kill me!”

“Why not?”

“I'm only the cameraman.”

I push the camera down to face the floor and “Cut!”



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