All In A Day’s Work…

Cyrius Day walked into the casino, his light brown eyes scanning over the crowd of people carousing around the tables. His long brown trench coat was pulled back at his waist, revealing the side-arm strapped to his leg where his hand rested on the grip.

Everything he had found indicated that his prey would be here tonight, and as luck would have it, there he was, standing over next to the roulette table. “Why do they always seem bigger in person,” he mumbled under his breath as he took the chewed toothpick out of his mouth and dropped it on the floor.

Tilting the brim of his hat down,  he headed over toward the bar, keeping his target in sight and his hand on his holster. The bartender walked over to him, wiping the mahogany stained metal counter top. “We ain’t about no trouble here,” the bartender said as he looked down toward the gun.

“Ain’t here for no trouble either. Just doing a pick up.” He answered back, sliding his ID out. “I’m a Marshall. Here for James Reardon. That’s him in the black over there at the table.” Cyrius nodded in the direction of the roulette area. “No muss. No fuss.”

“This is a credible establishment Marshall. I know you got a job to do, but…” the bartender paused as someone walked up to the counter. “Be with you in a minute.” The bartender then leaned in closer and said, “Try to leave my place in one piece. I’d thank you kindly.”

Cyrius nodded his understanding then turned to head toward the table. Weeding through the people, he made his way up to the table, just a few feet from where Reardon stood. Several people were placing holo-chips down on the table, marking their spots. He watched as the croupier placed the ball on the edge and began it spinning.

As the ball went round, Reardon looked up and stared Cyrius in the face. Recognition registered in Reardon’s eyes and as the croupier called out, “No more bets,” a smile broke across his weather-beaten face.

Cyrius gripped his gun tighter in his hand, the vibration in the handle telling him that his palm print was recognized and the weapon was ready to be used. “James Reardon, in the name of the Intergalactic Council, I’m placing you under arrest for murder in the first degree.”

The grin on Reardon’s face grew more wicked as the words came out of Cyrius’ mouth. The people nearest the table reacted in fear, grabbing what they could and clearing away as quickly as possible.

“I’d much appreciate it if you came along quietly.” Cyrius said as he gauged the situation, knowing full well that quietly was never the choice any of this type ever took.

The ball on the roulette table bounced into a slot, the noise from it not normally audible, but in the silence of the tension sounding like a hammer falling.

With a seething voice, Reardon responded, each word punctuated by a deep exhale of breath. “I’m… going… to… kill… you.” Reardon’s face twisted even worse than it already was.

“Could you come up with something as least a little more original?” Cyrius provoked. Reardon started to lunge forward across the table, his massive frame moving faster than most would anticipate. But, most weren’t Cyrius Day. As Reardon’s body crested the table, his hands outstretched toward Cyrius’ neck, Cyrius stepped to the side, allowing Reardon’s momentum to bring him crashing to the floor.

“Bad choice.” Cyrius said as he drew his weapon and pulled the trigger.