President's assassin

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Settling into the backseat of the car, I mentioned to the attractive young lady seated beside me, "That's a lovely pistol you're carrying."

No reply.

"The accessorized holster's nice, too."

"Well… they're FBI issue."

"No kidding. Ever shoot anybody with it?"

"Not yet." She gave me a brief glance. "You might be my first."

From her accent she was from the Midwest, Ohio, someplace like that. From her tone and demeanor, she meant it. Neither she nor the gentlemen in the front smiled, offered hands, or appeared in any way pleased to have me as a passenger.

So to break the ice, I said, "I'm Sean Drummond."

She said, "Keep quiet."

"Nice morning, isn't it?"

She gave me an annoyed look and stared out the window.

"Where are we going?" I asked her.

"I'm trying to think. Shut up."

"That's not what I asked."

"Well… you're not paying attention to the answer you're getting."

We were in the backseat of an unmarked black sedan with two plainclothes types in front. I said, "You guys know where we're going?"

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