He rose to his feet, a rush of vertigo jolting through him. The doorbell rang again. He limped his way across the room, pain shooting sharply up his right leg. He opened the door and standing before him was a gaunt, nervous looking woman with pale skin.

“Are you Jeremy?” she asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“Here.” She handed him a folded letter, hand shaking. Before he had time to ask who she was, she abruptly walked away, leaving him standing uneasily in the doorway. He watched, eyes squinting in the glaring sun, as she disappeared down the street.

     His throat was parched. He needed a drink. He slammed the door, cursing under his breath and went to the cabinet for a shot of gin.

     “Did you deliver the message?” a brusque man in his fifties asked as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Yeah. I delivered it. “Good,” he said as he smiled surreptitiously.

“This isn’t a game, you know. We’re trying to help people, not hurt them. I think you’re in over your head,” she said as she started the car.

He let out a laugh. “No agent, WE’RE in this. You got involved when you delivered the message, he said as he exhaled a stream of stale smoke in her face. Let’s go.”