The Stalking Menace

Light rain on the blacktop, misting through the streetlights. Approaching feet. A crumpled plain brown envelope furtively slid under the door. Rain stained and a little sticky. Hmm. Instructions to pass it on. The same feet, now fleeing. Retreating. Hurriedly even. Sirens approaching. I grab my .357 (I don't dial 911) look up the street and down, up and down. Someone in a cheap brown fedora and an oversized grey trenchcoat sliding quickly around the corner, knocking over a trashcan along the way. Sirens now moving off. A cat screams as if his tail has just been stepped on by someone in a cheap brown fedora and oversized gray trenchcoat.

Back inside I open the plain brown wrapper. . .