There was nothing else in the briefcase. I set the gun down on the floor and checked more thoroughly. I ripped the lining out, ruining the briefcase in the process.

Why? I wondered. Why had they left me a gun but no instructions? What was I supposed to do with it?

I picked the gun up again and checked. It was loaded. I wrapped it in the torn lining and put it back in the briefcase.

Before I left the hotel room, I searched the closets and drawers, even the bathroom. Nothing, unless you counted the Gideon Bible in the bedside table. Damn. This wasn’t meant to be a guessing game, was it? The muffled voice on the phone had said “Go to the Windsor Hotel. Check into room 412 under the name Jane Smith. You will find a briefcase under the bed with further instructions.”

So – what were my instructions? Kill? Kill whom? And why? Why me? I wasn’t some hired assassin. I was a private detective. Maybe the voice had simply gotten the wrong number, and whoever the call was meant for would have known exactly what to do with the gun.

I sat down on the bed again and thought. Okay. If the only bit of writing in the room was the Gideon Bible, maybe my instructions were in there. I opened the drawer and pulled the bible out. I turned its spine up and shook it, hoping that a note would fall out. Nothing. I thought – Okay, guns are for killing. Maybe the instructions are written in the margin beside something about killing. Great. I’d have to read the whole bible. There was scarcely a page where somebody wasn’t getting killed. No, that idea was too far-fetched.

I gave up. I stood up. The voice was going to have to call someone else.

Just then, the door opened and a man walked in. He was tall and painfully thin. His eyes had sunk into their sockets, and he was obviously ill. He spoke, and now I recognized his voice.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “What is the gun for?”

“Where is the gun?”

“It’s back in the briefcase.”

“Get it out.”

I did.

“Now kill me. Please.”

I looked into his eyes. I saw his pain.

I took aim, and I fired.

By Sandra Leigh

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