Wrong House
I was held at gunpoint. Should the old man shake the slightest bit too much, it was bye-bye-life for me. I was a coward. And as such, I didn't want to die. Sure, I felt like bashing my head to death sometimes. But I didn't want to die.
Ironic? Yes. I admitted that to myself. Another ironic thing was the fact that this dead old man was never dead.
"Even through those glasses, I see a fool," the old man said. "I smell people like you. I can read 'em like the books. Not that I read books," he coughed, "I ain't got time on my hands for that anymore."
Hanso constantly shot glimpsed at me. I surely hoped he wasn't going to try anything stupid. Because again, I didn't want to die, at all.
I had to think this through carefully. We didn't know this man. 'One wrong move could mean death for the three of us,' I thought. 'Wait—' recognition dawned on my face.