He dropped fast. Real fast. Now crumpled on the floor, those eyes looking up at Tara. She still had the gun trained on the place he was standing, shaking.

She steadied her hand, safetied the gun and put it back into her purse very gently, never taking her eyes off of the man she had just killed.

What did he say? she thought. Father? But that was years ago.

“Dammit.” She cursed aloud, and crouched down beside his body. Reluctantly, she fumbled through his pockets…the pockets of a dead man.

Cigarrettes, lighter, watch, a wadded up piece of paper. Nothing else. She lit another smoke and unfolded the small piece of paper. A dry-cleaning ticket. What? She looked back at him, those filthy clothes. The eyes were still staring at her.

That’s when she noticed his clean shave and haircut. Tara stood, confused. She turned the paper over in her hand and noticed the handwriting.


Another tremor shook her. She was still holding his watch in her other hand.


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