Daniel King sat alone in a restaurant booth, hand lying on a cardboard briefcase damp from the rain. He eyed the booth two spots in front of him where two teenage boys were sitting, and instinctively he wiped his forehead, forgetting just how wet his hand already was until he felt it press against his scalp. His client Jacob, the man with the moth-bitten black duster that Don had just bought an hour ago, had yet to arrive. King would not be deterred, he had run the scenario a hundred times over in his head and tardiness was a factor he had long accounted for. He sipped from the steaming paper cup of coffee, suffered the burn on his tongue, yet for some malfunction could not enjoy the flavor.

King bit his tongue lightly to distract from the burn, and instead he chose to focus upon the tinny ring of the bell connected to the diner’s front door. Jacob Leary crept into the scene, slowly and deliberately he closed the door behind him. He scanned the stools pocked with tears, the stained circular tables, and then the booths. King met his gaze and nodded to the seat opposite his, thus Leary indicated his acceptance of this request by methodically stepping up to the booth. Leary was an older man with soft features (outside of his unkempt beard), somewhat grandfatherly, yet he jerked forward like an automaton. He knelt down and slid into the booth, his eyes always rested on King as he outstretched his hand. King accepted the hand and shook vigorously, it was quite obvious that the coffee he drank had some effect on him. Slowly he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in order to refocus.

“Do you have it?” King inquired.

Leary simply patted the pocket of his duster, which was distended by an object contained within. His grey, cloudy eyes continued to weigh on King without blinking once.

“Hand it over then.” King said.

Instead, Leary placed his emaciated fingers on the briefcase and pulled it towards him with a strength that wrested King’s own grip on the box. King made as if to object, yet he saw no real reason to try more than half-heartedly. He felt the cold metal of the tool in his left hand as he prepared for the next step. Leary turned the case around and unlatched the bulging top, he slid his fingers into the interior and quickly opened it. Awakened from the trance, Leary’s mouth gaped at what he saw within the case, eyes suddenly dinner plates, face stretched into a mask of disgust. He covered his mouth and nose with his right hand and reached into the duster with his left.

The man produced a long black firearm and clumsily pointed it at King. However, before he could squeeze the trigger, King blasted him in the stomach beneath the table. The man’s lower lip brought his face down into a drooping portrait of pain and confusion. Dry lips wrapped themselves around a frantic question, but before it could be uttered King shot the man twice more. The head of the man fell forward into the hidden contents of the briefcase and made a wet splat. King did not take the time to admire his handiwork, as he saw out of the corner of his eye one of the boys in the other booth fidget and foam at the mouth.

I ripped the device out of my ear and felt the sting of the pincers disconnect from my skin. “Donny!” I shouted. My friend was having what looked to be a seizure, though a viscous oily fluid dripped out of his left ear. Immediately I slapped my own hand against my right ear and examined that the only liquid produced was my own blood. I leaned forward and pried the device from Don’s ear as well. I stuck the respective neural connectors into their ports and listened to the soft chunk of the machine being disengaged. The putrid smell of the machine hit me once I removed my protective mask, so I swiftly slammed the briefcase shut with a moist thud. I grabbed the case and hefted Don onto my shoulder as I whispered to him over and over that I would take him to the hospital and that he would be okay.