"Where is he?"
"I don't know!"
There was the sound of a cocking .44. Peter Simmons saw the barrel and a thin white hand, the most he had seen of his attacker.
"Why? All she ever did was try to help you. She cleared your name for murder, for God's sake. And you set her up to be killed." He felt another kick land on his freshly bruised body. "Why?"
"He paid me, and my mother, she's in debt-"
"Oh, save it for someone who cares."
Simmons glanced up in the direction of the hostile voice. They were in an abandoned parking lot. He lay in the orange light of the street lamp, cursing himself for his own greed. He wished he could at least see the man's face.
"Where is he?"
Simmons shook with fear. "I-I don't know. He left instructions and the money in an envelope outside my house, I never met him-"
"Oh, shut up!" The voice snarled, the voice full of hate. "I hope you're ready to die, because if not…"
Simmons swallowed. "…If not?"
"Then you'd better get ready, real soon."
"Who are you?"
The gun moved closer, revealing the face of an angry-looking mid-forties man that, Simmons instantly knew, would be the death of him.
"Timothy McGee," he spat.
In the parking lot, a lone gunshot could be heard.