The Weekday One Hundred

I focus on the sliver of amber light coming from beneath the door. Shadows… whispers… footsteps… All drifting by, all a distraction. Or maybe not.

Then it appears – a single sheet of paper. Strikingly white with multiple rows of black type, conspicuously neat and single spaced.

My instructions. Finally.

I curl my fingers around my cold revolver and rise from my armchair. I cross the luxurious suite undetected, ignoring the quiet excess of the four-figure hotel room.

I take a knee at the door, scan the lone page but return to my post immediately.

Hot water interruptions. Hardly my concern.