" Careful there boy, or you're gonna spring a leak." The fool stepped closer, pointing his pistol at Duncan, or, rather started to that is. A quick flick of Duncan's wrists and the pistol along with the fool's hand, dropped to the ground. A startled look of disbelief preceded his scream. Blood fountained from the stump of his forearm. "I warned you." Duncan quipped.
The man screamed and flailed, spraying blood here and there. A second , snake like movement of forearms and wrists ensued. The flat of the sword smacked , striking just behind the screaming flailing miscreant 's ear. The resulting blessed silence occurred nearly instantly. The mans unconscious body collapsed to the ground.
Duncan, knelt , quickly striping the unconscious mans belt away, to form an improvised tourniquet. The pulsing spray reduced to a gradual oozing.
A hurried search revealed the man's hand, still clutching the pistol nearby, laying in the grass. Duncan debated moving the pistol, deciding against that, Duncan chose to move the unconscious man away from his , ahem, misplaced items.
Muttering to himself while doing so, " That was right careless of you, you Damned fool. Littering my yard, springing a leak like that and annoying me..."
Duncan heaved the unconscious body about, roughly propping the lolling head on the bottom most concrete steps to the battered but well kept wooden porch.
Damn idiot clearly was not a local. None of Duncan's neighbors would have behaved in the manner the unconscious man had. Primarily, because such would never occur to them to do to begin with.
Secondarily, knowing Duncan and his hobbies, none of Duncan's neighbors would have been stupid enough to tempt Duncan to actually employ any of the various techniques and weapons that Duncan took pleasure in training with.
Never mind trying to sneak up and ambush Duncan while he was in the midst of working out. Running through Renaissance Italian sword forms with a longsword, there in his yard.
That series of thoughts led Duncan to begin considering where the leaky fool had come from, and how he had managed to find himself here on Duncan's property painting the roses red.
Hmmn, had lefty there come alone? This question seemed one that may just need an urgent answer. Duncan, retrieved a bucket of ice cold spring water, then upended it over the unconscious fool. Lefty, came awake rapidly, sputtering, cursing and making various other assorted noises.
"Hey boy, did you come here alone? Should I be 'specting any of your frens to be coming round asking bout you?" Silence and glares ensued. " Look, I just want to know how big a hole I gotta dig, or if'n I need to borrow a bigger wood chipper." The man started babbling, threatening, demanding "do you know who I am..."
Duncan poked him in the chest with the sword. " Shhh now boy, I don't wanna know yer name. I don't care, seems I'll just call you lefty, coz you left your right hand over there with yer gun." Prodding once more for emphasis, ". Now who , and how many who's, knows you are here?" " I ain't talking bout nothing till I got my lawyer." Was the reply, Duncan laughed.
Moving swiftly, Duncan grabbed the fools left forearm in a vise like grip. A bit of mild struggle ended with lefty, waving his left arm about, a short piece of rope tied tightly around it just above the elbow.
" Looky here lefty, unless you want your new name to be stumpy, you will start being polite and answering me." Duncan again prodded lefty with the sword to punctuate his statement.
Lefty whimpered. " No, no one knows where I am. No one's coming. Please, just call the cops and an ambulance, I am sorry, please..." " No one? How'd you get here?" Duncan replied.
Lefty blinked, " uh, I drove myself. I jacked a car in Charleston, I left the car behind those bushes back there , aways back of your driveway. " Duncan studied the confessed car thief a moment, then fishing out his bandana, he used it to retrieve the pistol, kicking the loose hand at lefty. "You just sit tight there till I get back."
Duncan walked a hundred yards down his driveway. Sure enough, there was an empty Subaru parked on the side of the dirt drive. The hood was still warm and the keys were in the ignition. Walking back to his cabin, Duncan considered his next actions.
Casually, Duncan approached lefty. "Alright, get on up, time to get this done " Lefty struggled to his feet. " Step right over here boy." Duncan gestured. Lefty hesitantly complied, shuffling to the spot next to a rose bush that Duncan had indicated.
Lefty's eyes widened in shocked surprise when his head tumbled freely, falling to the ground. Lefty glimpsed his body still standing, barely beginning to collapse as his head struck the ground and rolled.
Talking to the still conscious, staring head.
" Why would I call the poe-leese? No one knows you are here cepting you."
Muttering to himself, Duncan set about dragging his wood chipper out. The turtles and gators in his pond would appreciate a snack.
Probably the most useful part of old Lefty's singular existence.
After the mess was cleaned up, Duncan planned on calling the sheriff's office and reporting the abandoned car. With any luck, or justice, the person who lefty had stolen it from would get their car back.
Duncan also made sure to leave Lefty's wallet in the car. Being very careful to ensure he left no fingerprints on it, or evidence he had touched it.
The pistol, after Duncan had gone over it, seemed in surprisingly good shape. A Glock .40, not Duncan's preference, but hey, a free gift is a free gift, kinda rude to complain after all.
Duncan’s neighbors are very understanding
Man, you didn’t just tell a story.
You built a slow, dangerous gravity around Duncan — made every second feel heavy, even before anything happened.
That “painting the roses red” line — pure poetry hidden inside violence. Didn’t have to explain it. Just trusted the reader to feel it.
And that humor — bone-dry, merciless — wasn’t there to be funny. It was Duncan’s real voice, and it made every move hit twice as hard.
You didn’t hand the story over.
You made us work for it.
Earn it.
Bleed for it a little.
I felt it.
Hell of a piece.