Cigarette, Chapter 1

“Drop the gun or I’ll open fire, this is your last warning!” The officer shouted, his pistol shaking so strongly in his hands that I got the feeling he had never pointed it at a human being before, but had always wanted to. I was still shocked to find the barrel aimed directly at me.

“For the last time, it’s not a gun!” I called back, my nerves betraying me and my voice cracking as if I was a pimply teenager.
“We are not here to negotiate, drop the weapon!” With his shaky finger hovering ominously over the trigger. I swallowed and the sound was so loud in my ears that I thought he’d just fired.

I should probably explain how I got into this situation. I could say it all started a long time ago and take you back to my childhood, but really it has nothing to do with any of that. I don’t hold the fact that Santa never brought me a bike or roller skates and instead just kept bringing me books and globes and chess sets against the world. I am not emotionally scarred in a way that brought me to this crossroads in my life because I felt I had no other options but to turn to crime. Because seriously, it’s not a gun, you have to believe me.

Why would anyone model a cigarette lighter to look like a gun? That just seems to be asking for trouble. On top of that, why did I agree to hold onto it for Jimmy, when he is trouble personified? Am I retarded?

“It’s not a weapon, bloody hell would you listen to me?” I don’t know why I didn’t just drop it, I could probably blame this one on my childhood. My father was incredibly stubborn and it rubbed off on me, I hated being told what to do. Even if it meant getting shot in the face. This is probably something I should see a therapist for, but I was too stubborn for that too.

“Last warning you scumbag, I mean it this time.”
His finger hovered over the trigger, gently squeezing it. I could imagine the bullet getting ready to fly out and remodel somewhere on my body. Right now it seemed to be pointed frighteningly close to my balls.
“Jesus Christ, stop! Don’t shoot!” I shouted, probably a bit too loud. The cop jumped as if he’d been electrocuted and his shaky finger squeezed the trigger reflexively.

I closed my eyes and waited for the bang and the agony, but there was nothing but silence. I slowly opened them, and saw the cop standing there, looking absolutely bewildered. Nothing was coming from the gun but a small gout of bright flames, struggling to stay ignited in the pounding rain. We looked at each other in shock, a look that would have been comical in any other situation.

That’s when I realised that somehow, he had the cigarette lighter, and that meant that I had his gun. We must have grabbed the wrong weapons after he rugby tackled me earlier. I levelled the gun at him and his eyes widened when I pointed the barrel between them.
“Okay, so maybe it is a gun.” I muttered.