True Conviction by James P. Sumner Page B

effects. You only learn to deal with these things, and be more calm and natural when faced with them, after many years of experience. At the moment, this mystery woman is showing she’s no stranger to any of it.
    She takes a step toward me and leans in close, her face inches from mine. Her lips form a menacing, almost flirtatious, smile as she reaches behind me and removes my gun from the waistband of my pants.
    “You won’t be needing this,” she says, seductively. She throws it on the floor without a second thought.
    “I want that back, it’s very special to me,” I say, quite seriously.
    She raises her eyebrow, but says nothing.
    “I’m gonna put my tray down now, okay?” I continue. “Just letting you know so you don’t shoot me or anything.”
    “Go for it,” she says with a shrug, full of confidence.
    I’m holding the tray in both hands. To most people, it’s just a tray. But to me… it’s actually just a tray as well, really. But, years of experience have taught me how to see an opportunity for violence in everything. I’ll think of something.
    I kneel slowly to place it on the floor, keeping eye contact with her the whole time. The second I look down at the tray, I fling it like a Frisbee into her legs, hitting her just below her knees. It catches her off-guard and I use the moment of distraction to lunge forward, stepping in close to her and grabbing her right arm by the wrist. I turn into her so my back is against her chest and, keeping her gun arm under control with my right arm and my upper body, I jab her twice with my left elbow—once in the stomach and again in her face. She falls backward against the door, stunned but not out of it. She drops her gun, which I very quickly bend down to retrieve.
    Don’t get me wrong—despite what I do for a living, I won’t normally tolerate any violence toward women. But in this particular situation, she was pointing a gun at me, so as far as I’m concerned, the bitch had it coming.
    As I take aim at the woman, I see out of the corner of my eye Ted Jackson’s cool, calm demeanor suddenly leave the premises. I quickly glance round at him as the color quickly drains from his face, leaving the quivering wreck of a man I’ve been paid to kill. Papers scatter everywhere as he scrambles out of his chair and makes a run for one of the other rooms.
    “Teddy, be cool,” I say, before shooting him in the foot with his bodyguard’s gun. He stumbles and falls, landing awkwardly. Blood starts dripping all over the expensive carpet. He’s screaming, which is understandable, if not a little annoying. I walk over and kick him in the side of the head.
    Now he’s not screaming.
    I looked back over at the front door and the woman’s slowly getting to her feet, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. I aim the gun at her again.
    “Don’t do it, darlin’—I’m better than you are.”
    She looks like she wants to protest, but I can see her assessing the situation and realizing that right now, she has no move. She drops back down to one knee and puts her hand to her head where I hit her.
    “You’re in way over your head,” she says.
    “You might be right,” I reply, shrugging. “But I’ve got a few questions I need answers to, and you’re going to give them to me.”
17:16
    I’ve secured Jackson and the woman to two of the chairs in the suite using some cable ties I’ve brought with me. I’m now sitting on the sofa in front of them, over by the main window, leaning back with my feet on the table in front of me. I was even kind enough to wrap a towel around Ted’s bleeding foot. After all, I don’t want him passing out or moaning too much before I have chance to speak to him.
    Despite my first instinct to just shoot him and walk away, I now find myself in a position to find out exactly what the hell is going on around here and I can’t resist. It’ll drive me mad otherwise.
    The woman hasn’t said anything. She’s just staring at the floor, almost