Thin Line by L.T. Ryan

across the desk from him.
    "I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you here," he said.
    "You want me to work for you."
    Smiling, he grabbed a stack of papers and evened them out by tapping the edges against his desktop. The blank sides faced me. I couldn't tell what was
    written on them. He set them to the side and placed his hands on the desk, palms down, tips aimed at me.
    "I can get anyone to work for me, Mr. Jack. What I need is someone who can kill for me. And not just kill - because, as you can see, I have plenty of
    firepower at my disposal, including men who have killed for a living as long as you've been alive." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Thirty,
    right?"
    "Just turned."
    "Congratulations." His smile lingered for a moment. He continued. "I need someone who can get in and out, neutralize any target, and do so without leaving
    a trace of evidence behind."
    "I'm not your man."
    "Someone who is self-sufficient, can cross borders, and has or can get contacts in those countries."
    "I'm not your man."
    He smiled, briefly, and diverted his eyes to the stack of papers. He looked up, said, "You're having trouble locating a target. Isn't that correct?"
    I said nothing.
    "Not only that," he continued, "but you also lost a corpse. One that has been determined to also dabble in the art of black operations. Dreadful."
    I said nothing.
    "I'll take your silence as an affirmative response."
    Murmurs from the hall found their way into the room. The whispers didn't seem to distract the Old Man. He kept his focus on me. I couldn't flinch without
    him reacting.
    "I may be able to help you, Mr. Jack. Of course, in doing so, I'll expect something from you as well."
    "Of course."
    His smile returned. Those yellow teeth were the gatekeepers to a calloused heart. There was ice behind his cloudy eyes. He was as comfortable in his
    two-thousand-dollar suit as he would be in sweats, issuing commands to street thugs. He might not pull the trigger now, but at one time he had, and enjoyed
    it. At once, I felt equal parts hatred and kinship with the guy.
    "Do we have a deal?" he asked.
    "You've made a miscalculation somewhere along the way."
    "Oh, have I?"
    "You see, you're operating under the assumption that I'm feeling pressure to find a possible target, or uncover a presumably missing corpse. This couldn't
    be further from the truth. I came to New York to relax and spend some time with my girlfriend. It's true that in the past I worked for a government agency.
    A fact I am only divulging out of respect to you. But since then, my activities have been isolated to legitimate businesses with my partner."
    He slowly clapped three times. A laugh preceded his comments. "You'll never make it as an actor, Mr. Jack. With your background, you should realize that
    things go much easier when you adhere to honest dealings."
    "I'm sure you live your life by those words."
    "How I live my life is of no concern to you. The only thing you should be worrying about is your lifespan, Mr. Jack."
    I shifted in my seat. The action drew an immediate response from the Old Man. He lifted his hand and let it settle slowly. I eased back again. I could see
    in his eyes that he felt he had control over me.
    "If you have information about any alleged government targets and possible missing corpses," I said, "then the best thing for you to do would be to phone
    in an anonymous tip, because you're doing nothing but wasting time by talking to me about it."
    He slid back and pulled a drawer open. I couldn't see the contents as they were blocked by the desktop. My body tensed. In my current position, it would be
    difficult to draw my pistol in time. His hands came into view, weapon-free. At least in the direct sense. He set two manila envelopes in front of me.
    One was addressed to Detective Reese McSweeney, my new friend who'd accompanied me to the morgue. The other was ready to be sent to Leigh Russo. I
    recognized the name: She was a news anchor for a local