The Weekday One Hundred

McAfee stood atop the wooden stool; his hands crudely fastened behind his back. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

“Suicide? In a prison cell? No one’s gonna believe this,” he laughed in the gunman’s face. “No one.”

Another reckless claim in a life full of them. But this one was so bold, so audacious, he wasn’t sure he even believed it.

He knew there were charges against him, serious ones. And he was in a foreign country ready to be extradited.

Suddenly, the masked gunman gave the stool a swift kick.

“Guess you’re right, John.”