one-hundred-sixty-word story

“I could tell you,” Oliver said with a shrug. “But I’d have to kill you.”

Casey burst out laughing.

“What a cliche, Ollie! You always were a joker. Who says that? You gotta be able to tell me something! Just fudge the details, or mix the stories up a bit.”

Oliver hesitated. He seemed to grin a little as he opened his mouth, as if to speak. Casey edged closer and raised his eyebrows expectantly. After another silent moment, Oliver concealed his ambiguous expression as he raised his glass and polished off his drink.

“Why do you want to know?”, Oliver asked.

“Why? You’re some kind of super spy or assassin or something–”

“Or something.”

Casey filled Oliver’s glass. “How many more drinks do I need to feed you?”

“You’ll need stronger stuff.”

Casey’s imagination buzzed.

“You can’t say anything?”

“I could, but–”

“But you’d have to kill me.”

Oliver nodded.

Casey sighed.

“Would you have to kill me today?”

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