SOMEONE WAS IN MY ROOM

I pushed the door open with my foot. There she was. Curled up in the only easy chair in the place, wearing a pair of very tight black pants, a see-through pink blouse and one of those sly baby faces full of wonder and wickedness.
We stared at each other for a moment. Then I looked down. She had her hands in her lap and the barrel of a small, efficient revolver was tilted up, aimed straight at my breastbone.
“Shut the door,” she said.
I shut the door.
Suddenly she tossed the gun on the bed and stretched out against the pillows. “My name’s Sheila,” she said in a soft, lazy voice. “I brought the gun for you. I want you to kill somebody.”

They shoved me into my car.

The man with the mutilated face jabbed me with his gun. “You drive,” he ordered, and climbed into the back. The other two got into the car behind.

“Be good,” said the voice behind me, “and you will live a little longer. Not much longer. But I know you want to live as long as possible.”

The evil confidence of his tone sent a surge of hate through me. Suddenly the feeling of helpless horror left, and my brain began to unjam. There was a way out of this somehow. They had already made the mistake of splitting up. I still had time.

I’d proved one thing anyway. There wasn’t just one killer running loose. There was a whole rat’s nest of them. And right now I was the only man alive who knew what they were after.