The next morning Cameron woke up, bright and early. Arming himself with his gun and a small toolkit, he traveled out to his former boss's house in the suburbs. He got there and found the same flimsy lock on the front door that had been there the year before, when he had invited all of the employees to a get-together at his house. His boss had locked everyone out at one point during the evening, but he had been able to pop the lock relatively easily with a flat-tip screwdriver. He had suggested a heavier lock; he would now pay for not listening to his advice.
He opened the lock and was greeted with a chain lock. Who uses these anymore, he thought to himself, cutting through the weak metal with a pair of sturdy pliers. He drew his weapon and made his way slowly and silently up the stairs. The house was deathly silent; perhaps his boss was still asleep and he could catch him unawares. He made his way to the master bedroom and slowly opened the door. Taking one final resolute breath, he swung the door open and aimed the pistol at the pillows on the bed.
He caught himself before squeezing the trigger. The bed was empty.
He poked around the room, and felt an aura of sadness wash over him. He knew his boss was married, but this didn't exactly look like a room full of wedded bliss. He set his pistol on a dresser near the door and took a better look around. There were some pictures of a woman, the same woman with some kids, and some with other adults, but none of his boss. He was beginning to wonder if he was in the wrong house when a voice broke his concentration. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"
He whirled around and pulled the trigger of the gun he imagined himself still holding. Only then did he realize it was in the hand of a woman standing in the doorway. She held the barrel in her palm with the grip facing up.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked angrily.
"This is my house, you are an uninvited guest at best and an intruder at worst, and I'm holding a gun. I think I'll ask the questions for now. Sit down."
"Go to hell," he spat, prompting her to adjust her grip on the gun so it was aimed directly at him.
"I'll send you there first. Sit down." She repeated her command with gusto; he sensed that she would blow his head off and not shed a tear. He sat down on a chair in the corner, and she sat on the edge of the bed nearest him. The gun she placed in the dresser, taking it out of the equation for the time being.
"Now let me ask you, who the fuck are you?" she asked with more than a hint of annoyance.
"Dent. Cameron Dent," he said, trying to control both his rage and his nervousness. He hadn't come here to talk to anyone; he had come to put a bullet in a traitor's skull and leave.
"Cameron Dent, why does that name sound so familiar... oh yes, you used to work for my ex-husband... a real tragedy, your situation. That explains a great deal by itself."
"Like what?"
"Like why you're in my house, uninvited no less, with a loaded gun." Her icy yet amicable demeanor rattled Cameron. "My name is Giovanna, but you can call me Vonni."
"I see... well listen, Giovanna, as much as I'd like to sit here and chat, I don't have time to."
"Oh really... And what agenda do you have that is so pressing on your first day out of prison?"
"Kill your husband."
