The man was silent, still, almost considering what she was saying.Ĭlover fired the pistol. The knife in the invader’s hand inched further away from his neck. The rooster-man looked up from Hoxton, the hand on his head still curled tightly in his hair whilst the man it was attached to groaned in pain. She pulled back the slide, a bullet clacking into place, ready to put this chicken-headed madman out of business. As she did so, Clover found herself glancing up to Hox, watching the almost slow motion, ridiculous stunt of the bat coming up to meet him. The gun in her hands suddenly felt as valuable as liquid gold and she swiftly started reassembling the thing, the process taking no more than a handful of seconds. Who was this arsehole? What was he doing here? In their home?
HOTLINE MIAMI JACKET FACE FULL
She screeched in anger at the intruder, her eyes wide and full of rage and hate. But these most certainly were not screams of fear. As his fingers closed around the handle, he heard a woman’s screams. The baseball bat clattered to the floor and greedy hands reached for Hoxton’s kitchen knife. With a wrenching motion, the englishman’s neck was exposed. The mask figure tilted his head a little almost curiously, stepping over Houston and reaching down to grab the fallen Hoxton by his hair. It caught his jaw, snapping his head back and putting him down much like Houston. Hoxton’s momentum meant he couldn’t stop. He didn’t much care for Houston in a general sense but seeing him sprawled on the floor, maybe even dead, sent a surge of anger through him right down to his bones.Īs he came in for the strike, the unmoving man suddenly dropped into action like he was a fucking ninja, a foot sliding back on the floorboard slick in Houston’s blood and the bat in his hands dropped to a low angle. Hoxton swung with force, rage powering his actions. Hoxton was quick on his feet, it was true. But maybe he could catch the other with a swift strike from the silver blade after all it was as sharp as any other knife he owned, it could do the same job in the end. The kitchen knife was still in his hands. He’d leapt the counter before he could even think, barely hearing Clover’s angry cry behind him. He looked up in startled horror, an arc of blood slowly trailing through the air after the fallen heister and smattering down to the floor, and across the jeans of the figure that now stood over him. The sound of it meeting Houston’s face was no where near as satisfying as it should have been. Clover was sitting next to him, up on the side, and polishing the barrel of a pistol, the silencer gleaming gently in the late-afternoon light and making him grin in appreciation. He snickered to himself as Houston grumbled and went to answer the door, going back to chopping up some potatoes on the counter. To warn anyone.Ī single finger twitched as he tried to reach out for his attacker’s ankle, but the hand fell limp. He tried to speak, to say something, to warn Hoxton. The soft clack of soles hitting the floor and simply stepping over him like he wasn’t even there. Stars floated across his vision, the corners of the room fading out to a spangling blackness that slowly crept towards the middle of his vision. Arms flailing, he had nothing to catch himself from his backwards descent, and he landed in a heap, head smashing against the floorboards behind him and blood trickling from his nose and mouth. The wooden door smashed towards him, hitting him square in the face and chest with enough force to throw him back. He never had a chance to even finish the thought.Īs Houston reached out a hand for the door handle, mouth half open to give some kind of disgruntled answer to whoever was on the other side, the door came back towards him instead.
Of course he’d have to answer it to whatever shit head had decided now was a great time to– He muttered the words quietly, sparing Hox barely a second of irritated glaring before he walked towards the door that lead out to the laundrette, scratching irritabley at his neck and rolling his shoulders. He glanced across to Hoxton at the kitchen counter. Word Count: 3647 (Fuck me sideways, did it all in one sitting too)įrowning, Houston stood from where he’d been sitting on the edge of sofa to one side of the main room in the safehouse. How the hell are the Payday crew going to deal with this? We got a rat infestation in out back, can you deal with it?“ Jacket gets a phonecall. Summary: "Hi this is Tim working at the Laundrette.
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