The Amateur

He had me drive down a block, and turn left, onto a tree lined residential street. About a half a block down, he had me pull over and park.

He rummaged around in the back seat until he found the leather cleaning kit, and pulled out the spent cartridge.

"You machine these yourself?" he asked. "I saw the metal lathe in your basement. But of course you wanted me to. Nice work, real pretty." He held the cartridge up to the light.

"Kill your wife by making it look like some whacko serial killer. You get that off a TV show? Dumb, real dumb. Had Gunderson going though. Told him right where you'd be."

He found the other cartridges, holding one in his hand, and putting the other three back in the pouch.

"You only need one more." he said, handing me the bullet.

He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. "Memorize this," he said.

"It's your next target."