"Since when do criminals have early morning appointments?" To my disappointment I found Oz and me disentangled when the alarm rudely awakened us. Oz deactivated it but lingered in bed.
"Ignore it."
"Do you have to leave?"
"Mh. In a bit." The Penguin was not an early bird, it appeared. "You can stay."
Drowsily, I reached around his body, spooning him. "Stay, too."
Oz got hold of my arm. He let his hand glide until our fingers met. "Got business to attend to." I nudged my forehead against his back.
Just five more minutes.
Too soon did he slide out of my grip.
I got up as well. Oz was still early for his "business" appointment and walked me to the rail station.
The morning light was cold blue, reflecting off the snow in the streets and sparkling in the icicles that hung from roofs and window frames, and placidity lay over the streets and we were the only people left in the world. We passed a diner and decided we had time for a quick breakfast together. The diner was deserted with the exception of a sullen man tucking in ham and eggs in the far back. We took a seat by the window and asked for the menu.
Oswald opted for tea and pastry and departed before long. Through the window I watched him walk away, as the ham and eggs man suddenly made haste to leave. When he turned into Oz' direction, I jumped up. The man walked a few paces ahead, clearly following Oz. He dug for something behind his back. I knew what it was before he got it out. Desperately, I went through my options. Without a weapon, there were few.
He stood still to aim.
I broke an icicle off the diner's window frame and dashed towards him. The moment he heard the snow crunch below my feet he turned his head and I stabbed the icicle into his left eye.
He let out a scream, reaching for his face with his free hand and pointing his gun at me with the other. I dove to the ground. The first bullet missed, the second hit below my shoulder. I struggled to get behind a parked car. Multiple shots followed from farther away. The man fired once into Oz' direction and fell. He lay on his back, the icicle still protruding from the eye socket. Oz came running as swiftly as he could. He aimed to shoot again.
"Wait!" If he shot again, this might not look like self defence any more. Oz was bewildered by my intervention, but complied. I crawled over to check for the pulse while Oz kicked the pistol out of the limp body's reach.
No pulse. "He's dead," I let myself fall into the snow, "he's dead."
I reached for the red stain that had formed on chest. So close, I thought, marvelling at my blood-smeared hand.
"Get an ambulance!" I heard paces recede back into the diner. Oz dropped on his knees next to me.
"You injured?" I asked.
"Me?" he sneered. "No, no I'm not injured," he stressed the "I".
He took off his scarf and pressed it in a clot against my wound. Black wisps of hair fell over his eyes. I reached out to brush them away. His face started to blur.