See him, tied to a chair under a single spotlight. The typical police interrogation scene, except this is different.

There is a digital clock counting down, second by second. Even I’m too scared to know what happens if that reaches zero.

I walk up and put a .44 magnum to his head. I can see his bruised skin shiver and perspire at the touch of the gun to his temple.

The best thing about a revolver is it is virtually impossible to jam it.

“Darren, you know what you did.” I grunt into his ear. “You know how to fix it.”

I see his jaw muscles tighten as I pull back the hammer of the gun. He lets out a slow, shuddering breath through clenched teeth.

“You know what happens if you don’t tell me what I want to hear. What I need to know.” I hiss.

“Th-the address is 23 Cedarmill Rd.” He blurts out.

I walk in front of him, show him the gun, swing out the cylinder to let him see the empty bullet chambers on the gun.

“I didn’t even have to load the gun. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I say, and walk out.

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