A Gangster’s Accident
A Story of Accidental Proportions
By Chrissy Wissler
With Bonus Story
More than a Little Accident
A Story of Accidental Proportions
A Ganger’s Accident Copyright © 2012 Chrissy Wissler
More than a Little Accident Copyright © 2011 Chrissy Wissler
Published by Blue Cedar Publishing
Cover Illustration by Vladimir Nikulin/Dreamstime
Discover other titles by this author on Smashwords.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Bonus Story: More than a Little Accident
A little short. Damn. Annabelle stretched her arms, fingers brushing the windowsill. All she needed was another inch or two. She lifted her foot to the very top of the ladder.
The wooden ladder creaked under her weight, swaying in a most precarious way. An unhappy ladder. The kind of ladder that clearly didn't like to be balanced with all the weight at the very top.
Too bad. She had to reach that window.
“I wouldn't do that.” Possum poked out her little ferret head from the safety of the very window Annabelle was trying to reach.
“Quiet. I'm concentrating.” Concentrating on keeping her balance even. No need to mention that, though. Nope. No need at all.
“Concentrating? More like almost falling.” Possum shook her head, her spiky whiskers brushing against Annabelle's hand – the hand that managed to grab the windowsill.
Yes! Take that Sorcerer-Lords.
“You do realize, you can die like any normal person,” Possum kindly informed her. “You're not immortal or invincible and I told you this was a terrible idea.”
“It's a great idea.” Annabelle ground her teeth. Now all she needed was to get the other hand up there. She carefully raised her toes. Her other hand gripped the ledge.
A fantastic idea. One that would save her life.
Which, of course, was when Annabelle's fantastic luck kicked in and the ladder tipped out from under her, leaving Annabelle dangling on the ledge of a building.
And not just any building. The main headquarters of the Gangster Guild. Just freakin' great.
Annabelle's right hand slipped a little more. Shit.
“Annabelle!” Possum squeaked. “Your ladder fell! Annabelle!”
“Shut up.” As if she hadn't noticed.
Arm muscles straining under her weight, she did her best to ignore the ferret. With her feet dangling, her hands slipping off the ledge, and being caught eye-height with the ferret, ignoring Possum was simply not in her host of options.
You'd think for just one the Chosen One would actually have something go her way. Even if her being named Chosen One was a tiny bit of an accident.
That wasn’t her problem.
Hands scrambling for purchase and the brick loosening from her toehold was her problem. That and the drop was a impressive. Not the kind you got up and walked away from.
“Will you stop,” Annabelle hissed. “I’m a little busy.”
She kicked against the brick wall, wedging her fitted shoes into some hole from prophecy knows where. At least if she fell, the fall would kill her and not the Sorcerer-Lords.
Small favors, indeed.
“See!” Possum twirled in the air, ferret body bending and twisting in ways body's don't bend. “I told you this was a terrible idea. The moment the words left your mouth I tried tellin’ you. But no. You never listen.”
Possum’s white speckled coat, now a dusty gray from the never washed windowsill, helped the small ferret blend in with the surroundings. Camouflage.
Of course, Annabelle thought as she pulled herself up, anyone passing by would ignore the ferret in favor of the person clinging to a wall that shouldn’t be climbed without a pulley, a few ropes, and maybe a good net.
Her muscles burned from her wrists all the way into her shoulders, as if someone stuck one of those hot pokers things under her skin. She really, really should have picked a more sturdy ladder to borrow.
Her fingers slid another inch. Possum finally shut up and did her best to help. Little teeth digging into her jacket and pulling.
Another inch.
Shit. She wasn’t going to make it. Just her damn luck.
Annabelle bit her lip. Hell no. She wasn’t about to die here. She wasn’t about to give those damn Sorcerer-Lords exactly what they wanted.
A chance to re-translate the prophecy and pick another Chosen One. Not today.
Annabelle heaved herself over the ledge, arms shaking, giving out. Safety. Holy shit. She’d done it. Below her the rickety ladder was now rickety pieces of wood.
“That was close.” Way, way too close.
Her arms hung limp, a great rubbery mess, and her heart raced like she’d snuck out with two cherry pies from Mrs. Bean’s kitchen pantry.
“Can we go home now?” Possum’s sides heaved as much as Annabelle’s and the poor ferret looked like she’d climbed up the entire wall herself.
She couldn’t go home. Not when she knew the kind of news waiting for her. “If I go back now…”
Annabelle leaned her head against the window glass. It might as well be over.
Possum sighed. “Yeah. I know. I just wish…I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
“There’s a lot of things I wish for.” But wishes didn’t come true and prophecies didn’t get re-translated. Only if you were dead, anyway. “At least we didn’t have to climb the Assassin Tower.”
Annabelle nodded to the dark, shadowy tower rising above the quiet, subdued city, a willowy hand beckoning in the night. Yeah. That’d be one hell of a fall.
“I suppose.” Possum didn't sound convinced. “I just don’t understand why in the Nine Prophecies you would ask the Gangster Guild? They’re worse than the Thieves.”
“I know.”
“If you know they’re blood-thirsty, lying cheats who’d turn their mums in for a purse, why are you asking their help?” Possum crawled up Annabelle’s arm, tiny nails digging through the fabric.
“Chances are good they’ll do it.”
And not ask questions. So long as they got paid. At least, that was what Annabelle had heard.
And what she was betting on.
“They might do it, but that doesn’t mean you can trust them,” Possum said. “We should go back. Let’s ask the Assassin’s Guild. After all, it’s their job. Not like kidnapping, bootlegging, and the worst of all – money laundering.”
Possum perched herself on Annabelle’s shoulder. Perfect ear-shouting range. Whoever thought ferrets were stupid?
Annabelle arranged her hair so it stood between her and the ferret, knowing she’d need it, knowing Possum would be really angry when she heard the extent of Annabelle’s plan.
She had to try, though.
“I would ask the Assassin’s Guild, except they have this teensy problem of actually killing their targets. They never miss.”
“Except for that time they tried to assassinate you.”
Only because Annabelle had slipped on the newly washed castle floor, which sent her sprawling across the Great Hall, smacking into one of those giant braziers and accidentally tipping it over.
Right onto the assassin.
“Of course,” Annabelle cut in. “That’s not to say they wouldn’t succeed this time. And I’m sure they’d try…really, really hard.”
After all, she had sorta ended up killing the assassin. It wasn’t her fault he’d been standing right there.
“Look,” Annabelle said. “They would actually kill me. And I imagine they’d insist it say so in the contract.”
Which was the whole problem. She wanted to die, but she didn’t want to die.
She slipped the still protesting Possum into her best ratty jacket, the kind of disguises Annabelle only found in the servant’s laundry room. She had a gangster to meet.
Earl Snooder.
Ernie the Cat, for short. The biggest mob boss in the Gangster Guild.
“This whole thing could be a simple misunderstanding with the Sorcerer-Lords,” Possum said. “I’m sure if you simply talked with them –”
Annabelle shoved Possum into her pocket. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for them to figure out the only asset I have left is my life.”
Thank the Nine Prophecies all the necromancers had been killed, otherwise she’d have her soul to worry about too.
Annabelle twisted behind her, searching for the window latch and touched the rusted metal. Her way in. She could do this.
“All I have to do is sneak in, ask to speak with Ernie, sign the contract and I’ll be home free.” Simple. As simple as this latch. And all she had to do was lift up and…
Of course, that’s when she triggered the damn warding spell and the entire window lit up with silly, squiggly symbols and colored light.
“Now you’ve done it!” Possum squeaked.
Annabelle fumbled with the latch. It held fast. Damn! What she wouldn’t give for some honest-to-prophecy freakin’ magic right now.
She slammed her shoulder into the window. A dull thud and shooting pain up her shoulder was all she got. Not even the tiniest crack.
“Whoever heard of a Chosen One who can't do magic!” Annabelle shouted. This wasn't fair.
She hit the window again. Still nothing.
The lights brightened. Two hands, silvery shadows, but definitely hands, reached through the glass. One grabbed her shirt while the other snagged a fistful of her hair, and yanked.
Annabelle tumbled through the window – yes, through. Her foot caught on the ledge, halting and jilting the original smooth fall downwards. She smacked into the ground hard.
At least, she thought it was the ground until the ground grunted. Her elbow jammed into something soft. Squishy soft. People soft.
“Get you's ass off me,” growled the voice. “You’s trespassing on the Gangsters turf.”
Terrific. This wasn’t the introduction Annabelle had in mind, but she did as she was told – had to make the most of the situation after all. The boy, at least he appeared to be a boy, though it was difficult to tell under that matted hair and dirt-smudged face.
Not much older than her. Just tall enough for her knees to smack into other, more delicate parts as the boy still clutched his trousers where she’d hit him.
Oops.
Annabelle glanced away, giving him some amount of privacy. Actually, she was busy checking out her options – escape options. The window stopped glowing, and though there were boxes lined against the wall, all sagging and ready to collapse, the window was too high. Not really an option and no ladder in sight.
The rest of the room didn’t look promising. One exit, no weapons, no other windows.
The boy rolled to his feet, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Oh, good. He’d recovered. No lasting damage then.
“Who’s are you?”
“Don’t tell him!” Possum warned from inside her pocket. “He’ll kill you!”
The boy’s hand tightened on his sword. “What’s that?”
“My ferret.” Annabelle moved to show him Possum and the boy grabbed her hand.
“You's make one move, and I’ll stick you through.” He lowered the blade to her throat.
“Okay.” She was, after all, a non-threatening, unimportant person. “Sorry about falling on you.”
“Whatca doin’ here? Don’t you know where’s you at?”
“Yep. The Gangster Guild. Do you think I could talk with Ernie? I have a question for him?”
The boy sputtered. “Ernie? You’s think you can sneak in here and demand to speak with the Boss?”
“Uh. Yeah. Pretty much.”
Possum sighed. “I told you we should have gone to the Assassins. At least with them you could have set up an appointment. None of this sneaking around stuff.”
Annabelle squished her pocket and smiled, big and bright. She also didn't take her eyes off the blade. “I’m Annabelle and I’d really like to talk with Ernie.”
The boy squinted for a moment, then fumbled in his pants – dear, prophecies, she really hoped he wasn’t fumbling for what she thought he was fumbling for – and pulled out a dented, gold coin.