good intentions

He was a good man, the good man, I'd never be able to waste him. No point even trying. My finger just wouldn't wrap itself around the trigger.

'Sorry, Mr. Grace," I whispered after a long while. "I just ... "

"you just can't kill me", he smiled. "thats okay. You're not the first you know. Two other guys have returned the envelope before you. I guess it's part of the curse.

"It's just that you, with the orphanage and all ..."

he shrugged. "and me getting weaker everyday. somehow I'd hope you could return the favor"

"sorry Mr. Grace," I whispered. I had tears in my eyes. "I wish I could..."

"don't feel bad," he said. "I understand. no harm done. leave it" he chuckled when he saw me pick up the tab. "coffee's on me. I insist. It has to be on me, you know. It's like a disease." I pushed the crumpled bill back in my pocket. Then I thanked him and walked away. After I'd taken a few steps, he called me. I'd forgotten the gun.

I went back to get it, cussing quietly to myself. Felt like a rookie. Three days later in Dallas, I shot some senator. It was a tricky one. From two hundred yards away, half a view, side wind. He was dead before he hit the floor.