"Please don't tell me. I distrust you when you speak," he heard from the other room, through the closet doors; beyond the blood-stained couch. He crept over to the closet, eased open the door and slid in... waiting for the right moment to make his way into that other room to kill again if the moment arrived.
He only had a few minutes to wait. The couple in that other room had stood in silence for a moment, then rushed from the room to answer the phone whose ring broke their silence. When he heard the door close behind them as they hurried into the kitchen, he slipped out from the closet and crept over to a closed door. After checking to see that the occupants of the house were still busy in the kitchen, he carefully turned the doorknob and slipped into the room.
He slowly turned and saw his prize hanging from a stand by the desk in the room, obviously used as an office. A small silver songbird ornament in a golden cage peered at him with a "Come hither," look. He approached it slowly, grasped the cage by its upper ring and lowered it to his side at a maddeningly slow pace. Ever so softly, he tiptoed over to the window, eased it open and ever so slowly lifted the lower portion so that he could get out of the house.
Before attempting to clib out the window, birdcage and all, he pulled his still-warm gun from its holster and and checked to see that the silencer was in place. He glanced at his watch and saw that he'd taken too much time to make his getaway. Knowing that the phonecall that he had paid someone to place to the household for only minutes earlier would soon be over, he ran to the door and into the living room, no longer being careful as he splashed through a pool of blood on the ground and into the kitchen.
He burst through the door; ready to kill the current owners for his next $10,000,000 prize. With a jump, he dropped his gun. Fifteen members of the Chicago police force had guns aimed for him. One of them came forward and handed him the phone. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello, dear brother. Just thought I'd let you know that I found your plans. You should know better than to leave a pizza box in your room. A room as organized as yours mkes things like that stand out. Brother dearest, I hate to tell you, but they think you're me. You see, I never existed. I'm an informant, but they'll never know you took my place. By the way, I'd close my windows from now on if I were you," as if from far away, a melodious sound took shape and pierced his thoughts.
"You'll never get away, my dearest brother," he spat venemously. "You may have the nimble fingers, but you don't have my nimble mind."
A dause, then a dial tone. He took the phone from his ear and turned to run out the door. Everything ran in slow motion as seven bullets swarmed toward his back and gnawed their way in. He hit the door with a sloshing crash and slid to the floor as his eyes rolled back in his head and blood oozed from his body onto the cold black and white linoleum.
The room was filled with a deafening silence as fifteen police officers went about their duties with murder on their minds.
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