An Early-Morning Contract: On Neutralizing Amy McGrew
There are certain hours when a professional is at his most effective, and the quiet of a weekend morning is as good as any. Targets are sluggish, their reflexes dulled by sleep, their minds not yet sharpened by caffeine. It was 10:15 on a Saturday when I moved through the corridors of 3rd Nourse, my bathrobe pockets weighted with a pair of rubber band pistols.
The previous night had been tense. Amy McGrew and her partner, Ross the Toss, had spent it patrolling my hallway, weapons drawn. Their intent was obvious. Fortunately, I had prior knowledge of this adversary, and that knowledge was my advantage.
Amy McGrew, the Flinger of a Thousand Deadly Blades, was not to be taken lightly. Her arsenal of edged weapons seemed inexhaustible, and her reputation preceded her. I had heard accounts of a confrontation in Musser where her speed left the aftermath so thorough that neither Campus Security nor the entirety of NoPo could piece the victim back together. Watching infomercials for a month wouldn’t find you a faster or more efficient combatant.
Lucky for me, bullets are faster than knives.
Two factors favored my operation. First, Amy always slept with a weapon, which provided me the legal and moral justification to defend myself without fear of enforcement. Second, her triple occupancy meant a steady flow of traffic, and a careless visitor from the night before had left the door unlocked. The room was accessible.
I eased the door open and moved silently to her bunk. She lay on the top, her wavy brown hair spread out, her face a mask of serene sleep. It was almost a shame to end things so early, but she understood the nature of the game when she decided to play it.
My hand found her shoulder. I raised the pistol to her heart and leaned in close.
“Good morning, Amy.”
