User Guide

Giving his men a nod, he left the room
and shut the door.
Just what I’d been waiting for.
I hit the trigger on the inside of my left
wrist.
The pressurized canister in my left
pocket discharged, filling the entire room
with Cyonel.
Silently, the men around me froze in
their tracks and dropped to the floor,
hemorrhaging silently from the mouth,
eyes, ears and nostrils at the nerve toxin’s
merest touch. I’d taken the antidote
before leaving my rooms, and it served me
well now. The only effect the toxin had on
me was a slight nausea from watching its
effect on the others.
I waited ten seconds for the gas to
dissipate before opening the door. Such a
death was too quick for CEO Dillard
McDonald. All his life, he’d been
accustomed to red carpet treatment. I
wasn’t about to disappoint him now.
I opened the door. No one was there. I
moved quietly through the seven-room
suite until I discovered Stephanie
undressing for McDonald in one of the
bedrooms. She screamed and clutched at
a corner of a sheet, attempting to cover
herself.
“If you’ll excuse me, Madame,” I said,
politely averting my eyes, “your lover and
I have unfinished business. Don’t we,
Dillard?”
Prostrate at Stephanie’s feet,
McDonald looked up from her fuzzy pink
slippers with wide eyes, speechless. I
waited for him to close his mouth. In
vain. I continued:
“Now, Madame, if you’d be so good as
to get dressed, I’ll tie you up, and we’ll be
on our way.”
She dressed. I tied her securely, and
disabled the phone rather permanently
after having McDonald ring for his limo.
He and I proceeded downstairs and
entered the limo without incident.
“Where are you taking me?” McDonald
asked.
“To the office. You mentioned a late
meeting, remember?”
As the limo pulled away, I hoped that
his wife had indeed kissed the children
for him.
We entered the deserted office complex
through McDonald’s personal under-
ground lift, bypassing all the security
checkpoints except one. (To guard against
him using a code-phrase to alert the
guard that something was wrong, I told
McDonald exactly what to say, with the
understanding that if he deviated one
syllable I would blow his head off.)
We stepped out of the lift and into his
private penthouse office suite. I threw him
down onto the carpet.
“Name any sum, and it’s yours,” he
said.
I looked around the swank offices. I
noticed the wet bar, the stereo set in its
polished onyx cabinet, the flatscreen
covering an entire wall and, most par-
ticularly, the video equipment in the
corner which would play so large a part in
establishing my reputation. On impulse, I
started setting it up. McDonald edged
toward his desk. I edged him right back to
the center of the carpet. He swallowed.
“Come on, you’re a hired killer, I know
you can be bought. Just name the price
and we can all go home.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” I
replied, focusing.
“The hell it isn’t! What else is involved
in this transaction besides money?”
“Honor.”
“Fug,” he spat angrily. “Stop drawing
this out, damn it. Name your price.”
Everything taken care of, I started the
tape rolling.
McDonald turned pale as I drew my
9mm.
32
July 2011 • SUDDEN DEATH
“…Just name the price and we can
all go home.”
“It’s not that simple,” I replied,
focusing.
“The hell it isn’t! What else is
involved in this transaction
besides money?”
“Honor.”