Sicario

Chapter Eleven

 "I thought it was you," Roberts said, walking toward me.

 He left his gun on the table. He was twenty feet away from it.

 Thirty.

 "You were right," I said.

 "About what?" Roberts said, stopping.

 "I'm not armed."

 "How did you-"

 "You didn't let me finish," I said, reaching into my pocket. "I may not have a gun or knife."

 I pulled my hand out.

 I revealed the lighter.

 "With me, everything is a weapon."

 I clicked on the lighter and jumped back, putting the flame under the curtains. They burst into flames.

 Roberts grabbed the gun but was too late.

 I hit his funny bone on the table and he dropped the gun.

 He punched me in the bullet wound.

 I grunted but kneed his chest.

 The fire spread quickly and soon we were surrounded by an inferno.

 He grabbed the gun off the floor and pointed it at my head.

 "Do it," I said, following a hunch.

 He pulled the trigger. 

 The gun, having been in the heat, misfired. 

 I pushed Roberts onto the table, now on fire. 

 He crashed through it and I heard an extra crack.

 I stompped on the floor.

 The crack spread and we both fell through the floor.

 The apartment below was empty but it was full of noise when flaming wood and Roberts and I, still fighting fell through, smashing furniture.

 My arm broke under me.

 I yelped and kicked Roberts in the gut.

 He grunted and fell.

 I grabbed a steak knife that had fallen oon the floor and put it under Roberts' throat.

 "This isn't hard after a few times." I said.

 "I know," Roberts said, stabbing me with a fork in the side.

 I dropped the knife.

 Roberts ran from the apartment, kicking down the door.

 The building started to cave in.