A loaded handgun sat on the coffee table. On the couch its owner was slouching back and staring off mildly. Jesus – what time was it? The wait was ridiculous. It’d been at least five minutes.
Nobody had any respect for timetables anymore. Here the gun had already been fired twice that night and the accomplice for the job was late. Suddenly an idea: Maybe the gun could be used again. That’d teach the prick to be late. Ah but then who would cover the second part of the job? Of course it was just a ridiculous idea. Just felt good to think about...
Finally the door opened.
“Sorry I’m late,” the man stepping in said.
“It’s about God damn time,” she responded.
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