True Conviction by James P. Sumner Page A

it.”
    More silence… I continue with my sales pitch.
    “I’m really sorry to bother you with this, sir. It’s just if I don’t have the correct paperwork, I’m going to get in a lot of trouble. Can you please just quickly sign this, and I’ll be out of your way.”
    I hear movement from inside the room. Bingo! I balance the tray on my left hand and reach behind me, wrapping my right hand around my gun. I hear the bolt unfasten and a second later the handle turns.
    My plan is simple: drop the tray as soon as the door opens so the noise masks any sound from my gun as I shoot him between the eyes. Then I’ll drag his body into the room and shut the door behind me. I’ll search everywhere for any paperwork that relates to the plot of land he’s supposed to sell to Pellaggio. Once I’ve found it, I’ll clean the entire scene of any trace I’ve been there before leaving.
    The door opens, but it’s not Ted Jackson standing in front of me. It’s a tall, gorgeous, blonde woman in tight clothes, holding a gun in a very steady hand and aiming it right between my eyes.
    Well… shit!
    We stand frozen, staring at each other with poker faces. Each second that passes by feels like an hour, and the silence is deafening. My mind starts racing, purposefully, rushing to find a solution that doesn’t involve me getting shot.
    There aren’t many, I'll be honest...
    But the way I figure it is, if she wanted me dead, I probably would be by now. Therefore, it’s probably best for me to let it play out for the time being, until I can get in a better position to do something constructive.
    “Hi,” she says, pleasantly. Her accent’s hard to pinpoint. It sounds like a blend of different European countries, with a hint of American.
    “Hey,” I reply.
    “Room service? That’s original.”
    “Well, you know the old saying: if it ain’t broke...’”
    “Send a fixer?”
    “Something like that,” I say with a shrug.
    It actually looks like she’s going to smile, just for a brief moment, but she doesn’t. Her face betrays exactly zero emotion. She’s good. And I might’ve been wrong about the whole smiling thing, to be honest. I wasn’t really paying much attention to anything besides the end of the gun that’s pointing at my face.
    “Do come in,” she says.
    I step inside the suite. It really is huge. I turn in a slow circle, absorbing every detail as quickly as I can—the layout of the room, where the doors and the furniture are... putting it into perspective after seeing it from the floor through a small camera. I glance over at Jackson, who is still sitting at his desk but turned around to see what’s happening. His face shows more disinterest than concern—clearly a levelheaded guy who’s no stranger to dangerous situations. Interesting…
    I turn back around to face the woman, who still hasn’t moved the gun even a millimeter. She’s dressed as she was when I first saw her this morning. Her dyed blonde hair is slightly curly at the end, resting on her shoulders. She has dark green eyes, which would be very pretty if not for the fact there was no emotion in them whatsoever.
    She’s really starting to concern me, simply for the fact she seems so at ease with pointing a gun at me. Most people, even seasoned veterans at such things like me, feel an element of pressure when holding a gun on someone. And don’t let anyone tell you different. Also, don’t believe what you see on TV. If you have a gun on someone, your whole body’s tense. You have to try and stay calm, as the slightest wrong movement could accidentally kill someone. You also have to consider every eventuality around you, such as the person you’re pointing your gun at making a move on you. If they do, you have to make sure you keep possession of, and control over, your gun to avoid it going off in any struggle that might unfold. Finally, you have to prepare yourself for pulling the trigger and being so close to the body that you see the