True Conviction

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Jesus Christ, it’s hot… I’m not complaining, I’m simply stating a fact. The long, straight highway that cuts across the unforgiving, barren Nevada landscape is steaming in the afternoon August sun. I know I’m still wearing my leather jacket, but I’m on a job and image is everything in my line of work. I suppose I could've stayed on the air-conditioned Greyhound bus for the last four miles, but it’s a lovely day and I feel like walking.

But it’s damn hot.

I was in Milwaukee when I got the call telling me about the job in Heaven's Valley. I was standing on the balcony of a fifteenth story apartment. It was early evening and the temperature had been a refreshing sixty-four degrees. Inside the apartment, on the bed, was a dead man. I'd tracked him across the city for three days, and struck when I knew he was alone.

I'd knocked on his door and when he answered, I’d kicked it hard so it flew open and hit him in the face. I'd assumed there would be a security chain fastened in place, so figured the initial force would have been necessary to gain entrance. He'd stumbled backward and fell over clutching his bleeding, and presumably broken, nose. He'd stared up at me wide-eyed, his face a mixture of fear and confusion.

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