[Stanley had been through this before. Not just in Vegas, but every single time he'd had a gun pointed at him with no means of defence. It's the not knowing that gets you, the thought process that has you thinking through every scenario it can come up with while desperately trying to think rationally. He knew the effect it would have on Vecchio, knew that even if he tried to hide behind smart talking and over confidence that he'd still have that fear creeping up is spine like a slow shudder.
That's good. Let the fucker guess where this was going, let him wonder if Kowalski really was pissed enough to kill or whether he was just going to get the same treatment he gave in Vegas. Neither was good. Stanley wasn't a killer. He hadn't come here for that, but he'd still defend himself with this firearm if the need arose. He'd get away with it. No one would know.
He snatched for the keys and got out the back without too much fuss, unfolding as he straightened up, shoulders rolling back, chest out, gun hand relaxed but still locked on Vecchio. He kept the keys in his left hand, intertwined them with his fingers and clenched his hand around it to make an uneven knuckle duster. It's a back up for the gun, and even with a left hook those keys would hurt if Vecchio got close enough. Stan needs whatever close range protection he can get when there an elevator. Any advantage will get the other thinking twice.]
Chicago Blackhawks, huh? I'm sure they won't mind watchin'. Give 'em some excitement.
[He kept his distance, as much as the elevator would allow, lingering just slightly behind Vecchio in the hopes that the turn of his body would give Stan the warning he needed that an attack might be coming. The gun stayed steady, still pointed, and as a precaution Kowalski announces out loud:] Fingers on the trigger, Vecchio.
[It's a risky position to rest his finger on a live firearm, but it was that extra bit of protection. It spared him that extra split second of moving his finger and it meant the extra danger of an accidental shot at any sign of a struggle. Hopefully Vecchio wouldn't be stupid enough. He tried not to concern himself with it. Kept up the confident smugness as the elevator climbs.]
no subject
That's good. Let the fucker guess where this was going, let him wonder if Kowalski really was pissed enough to kill or whether he was just going to get the same treatment he gave in Vegas. Neither was good. Stanley wasn't a killer. He hadn't come here for that, but he'd still defend himself with this firearm if the need arose. He'd get away with it. No one would know.
He snatched for the keys and got out the back without too much fuss, unfolding as he straightened up, shoulders rolling back, chest out, gun hand relaxed but still locked on Vecchio. He kept the keys in his left hand, intertwined them with his fingers and clenched his hand around it to make an uneven knuckle duster. It's a back up for the gun, and even with a left hook those keys would hurt if Vecchio got close enough. Stan needs whatever close range protection he can get when there an elevator. Any advantage will get the other thinking twice.]
Chicago Blackhawks, huh? I'm sure they won't mind watchin'. Give 'em some excitement.
[He kept his distance, as much as the elevator would allow, lingering just slightly behind Vecchio in the hopes that the turn of his body would give Stan the warning he needed that an attack might be coming. The gun stayed steady, still pointed, and as a precaution Kowalski announces out loud:] Fingers on the trigger, Vecchio.
[It's a risky position to rest his finger on a live firearm, but it was that extra bit of protection. It spared him that extra split second of moving his finger and it meant the extra danger of an accidental shot at any sign of a struggle. Hopefully Vecchio wouldn't be stupid enough. He tried not to concern himself with it. Kept up the confident smugness as the elevator climbs.]
Hows the hand?