text: I’d been pacing for hours, it felt like. If no one looked too hard I probably looked distraught. My bright red hands were evidence of all the hand wringing I’d been doing in the dingy ER waiting room. I would be distraught, anyway, if my luck turned... I could either be off the job and have some easy money, free and clear, or I was going to have to cancel my plans for Belize. “Mr. Hardin?” I whirled to the source of the voice and was faced with a tired looking woman in scrubs. If I were a betting man I would’ve bet she cleaned up real nice when she wasn’t tits deep in ER patients. “I’m Doctor Williams, I’m the attending physician this evening. I understand you’re the patient’s brother?” *This should be good.* With the most anguished expression I could muster, I nodded. “Yeah, uhhh,... I’m sorry, I’m just really broken up about what happened. Can you tell me how he’s doing?” The doctor gestured to one of the lobby chairs. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat?” Actually I minded a lot. The last place I wanted to be was an ER waiting room when cops came sniffing around for family members. I adjusted my hat again like I was trying to settle myself, keeping my face pointed towards the floor. Dr Williams sat close, closer than I liked anyone to sit next to me, even if she was hot. *The sooner I can get out of here and confirm, the better.* I hate hospitals. And doctors. We're in a symbiotic relationship really, I bag ‘em, they tag ‘em, but no one needs to know I'm the one doing the bagging. No one except my boss’s boss. How else would I pay for that sweet first-class flight to Belize? “Mr Hardin, your brother’s accident was very severe in nature. Have you spoken to the officer handling his accident?” I nodded, even though one sight of a cop’s face would have me slipping out the back doors. *No cops. No need to talk to them.* My hands threatened to sweat just thinking about it. “They said it was real bad,” I lied. “Your brother sustained injuries that honestly it’s a miracle he made it to the hospital alive.” *Shit. Alive? So close.* Not that I had anything to do with the twisted way fate dropped my mark before I could get within sniping distance of him. I was just that lucky. *Was.* Maybe my luck had run out, if the bastard lived. Unconsciously my hands started their wringing again. I nearly stopped, but then thought better of it. I’m distraught, remember? “Can you do anything for him, doc? When can I see uhhh.. Frank?” The doc didn’t answer me. That’s when I noticed *her* hands, tightening and releasing back and forth. I snuck a view up to her face again, now all worry and a penciled-in furrowed brow. *Maybe it really is my lucky day.* “Doc?” “I’m very sorry, Mr Hardin....” No one ever tells you that acting is a big part of being an assassin. Not that anyone ever condones doing close-quarter hits, but sometimes it’s just part of the job. Fake name, fake ID, fake brother, real big paycheck. Ya just gotta turn on the waterworks. Three, two, one... “Oh god!” I choked out. “Oh, Frank!” Her hand touched my shoulder sympathetically. “I’m so very sorry, sir. We did all we could.” “Jesus, Frank! My favorite brother!” I buried my face in my hands, workin’ up some real good sobs while thinking of the tragedy that Ronald Reagan wasn’t still in the White House. “The nurse will be out soon if you’d like to say goodbye. Again, I’m so sorry. You have my deepest condolences.” Through my hands I saw her feet shuffle off quickly. *Thank god.* As soon as she was out of view I did the thing I’d been looking forward to doing for hours. Phone. Text message inbox. Recent contacts. One word. “Confirmed.” And then the second next thing I’d been looking forward to doing. Phone. Text messages. Settings. Customize auto-away message. *“I will be back in the office May 15th, please forward all requests to the regional office manager, Frank Hardin.