Chapter 7-Right in the Bollocks Those dead eyes cast back no glimmer of recognition at Oliver’s question. “Tommy?” Oliver asked again as the blue-eyed assassin walked up to Oliver and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. Examining the green painted head of the arrow thoughtfully the assassin tapped the tip until it punctured his onyx colored glove. A drop of crimson escaped the fresh gash and mixed with the forest green of the arrowhead. Reaching down to pick Oliver’s discarded bow the assassin took a step back, turned, nocked the arrow and drew the bow string back to his cheek. “Don’t do it,” Oliver said watching his captor take careful aim in his direction. The assassin’s grip on the bow string loosened. With an echoing twang the bow string jumped back into rest position as the arrow sped out from the bow toward Oliver. “Aaaaarh!” Oliver screamed as the arrow pierced his left shoulder at the joint connecting his arm to his torso. A blaze of searing
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