by Pete Pitman
Southern Comfort
Candice pushed Troy aside and shouted, “I’ll take care of these. There’s only three of them.”
Troy regained his balance, threw up his hands and knowing his chance had gone, let his square jaw slump on to his broad chest.
Candice ran at the first of the three brawny gang members. Ducking as he lunged with his knife, she got in low and kneed him in the groin. As he crumpled forward, she kicked him under the chin. He groaned and collapsed to the ground unconscious.
The second big guy gave her a toothless grin and took a swing at her head with a crowbar. She just managed to side-step it before it could connect and stave in her temple. The momentum carried her attacker into a wall. As he bounced off, she thumped him in a kidney and rabbit chopped his throat. She was finishing him off with a kick to the head when she sensed the third gang member behind her.
Too Late! He was about to plunge a knife into her back.
Roland punched a button on his electric wheelchair and careered into the gang member’s legs. This caused his knees to buckle and the knife to slip from his grip. Candice flashed Roland a smile of thanks as she put the baddie to sleep with a blow to the head with the discarded crowbar.
Samuel L Johnson, the evil mastermind, who had been standing well back wearing a pink suit and twirling a silver cane, did a dance of annoyance. Seeing that he was beaten, he fired several bullets into an overhead skylight and as the glass showered Candice, Troy, Roland and the three prostrate baddies he slipped out of a side entrance, calling as he went, “This ain’t over. I’ll be back.”
“Look this is ridiculous,” whined Troy. “I’m being given less and less to do in every chapter.”
“It’s the modern way, darling,” said Candice. “All stories have to have a kick-ass leading lady now. Your time’s gone, darling.”
“B-but it’s not fair, I’m supposed to be the hero. Even Roland gets more action than me.”
“Ooh, Troy,” said Roland, his eyes lighting up. “If you want action, you know where I live.”
“At least, ya don’t get kicked in the balls, all the time,” said one of the gang members.
“I ain’t complaining none,” said Samuel. “I used to be the drug dealer or mugger. Now, I’m the evil genius. I get to cackle, scream at people and wear cool clothes.”
“And, I bet you get to see the error of your ways by the last chapter,” said Candice. “And, you use your genius for the benefit of mankind.”
“That’s cool,” said Samuel.
“Yuk!” said Troy.
“From your high-security prison cell, of course,” said Candice.
“Oh!”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Troy. “I’m supposed to have a grandstand fight with Samuel in the final chapter. Following a titanic struggle, I push him into a river, or over a cliff. But his body is never found. So, he can make a return in a later book in the series.”
“More like,” said Candice, with a grin. “The author kills you off in the final chapter.”
“No! Never! I’m the hero.”
“Yes, but,” said Candice. “You’ll die a hero, darling. Probably, rescuing a kid from a fire or a runaway lorry.”
“She wouldn’t k-kill me off? Would she?”
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