The Man in the Black Suit
The Status Quo
The attacker ignored his
dislocated elbow, grasping his stomach instead.
He collapsed. Just to be certain,
the man named Jameson kicked the stiletto safely out of reach. It spun across the marble.
There was no danger of a second attack, however. The man in the gladiator mask was writhing,
pounding at his stomach in agony. Blood
dribbled from his mouth. Then, abruptly,
the contortions ceased.
Jameson rolled the man’s head over with his foot. The eyes were rigid. Warily, the man named Jameson knelt, placing
two fingers to the throat. No pulse.
Jameson stood, satisfied.
“He . . . collapsed?”
Aprill was asking a doubtful question, unbelieving.
“I poisoned him.”
“Oh, damn.” She gulped
hard.
“Now, it is time for us
to leave.”
The security guards were congregating, staring uncertainly at
the body.
“Mr. Benedict,” Jameson said, “I think you will now listen to
what I have to say. Take care of this.”
Benedict was shaken, but surprisingly compliant.
“That man tried to kill me.
Please, clean it up . . .” he gestured at the body “. . . and inform me
when the police arrive. I need a minute
in private. This is quite a shock. If not for my bodyguard . . . .”
“Of course, sir. Please,
follow me.”
A security man led them to a private room. The moment the door clicked shut, Aprill started
spewing words.
"You probably saved our
lives. We're grateful, of course. But it's illogical! If you're some contract-killer like you
claim, then why turn down an assignment to kill my father? Money is
money. And why warn us?"
Jameson observed her
disapprovingly. She was businesslike,
but without a grasp of the status quo.
"You should be waiting for my
explanation rather than demanding answers from me."
Aprill’s outrage mounted, but
Benedict touched her shoulder.
"Honey," he said quietly, "let's hear him out." Benedict shook his head, trying to clear away the last dregs of inebriation.
