Nicholas Holley

2608 Emporia St.

Lubbock, TX 79415
806-438-5704
Holley.nick@gmail.com

Word Count: 1500

The Emerald Briefcase

By
Nicholas Holley

The shell of the bullet popped out of the small

black gun as it fired. The bullet that it encased flew
directly into the rear of a man's head, his expression
still loose with the several glasses of wine he had
consumed within the past hour. His body, sitting on the
fine leather couch, jerked as the bullet entered his
skin like a parasite, causing his head to droop on his
right shoulder.
"It's done," said the man behind the corpse. He
was standing in the shadowy corner of the hotel room

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very composed, while his hand was on the communicative

device in his ear. His eyes were fixed on the door to
the room, the only way in or out of where he was. The
device in his ear hummed, a voice only he could hear.
"Yes," the man said. "The Ritz-Carlton, in the heart of
Moscow." He raised his arm in front of his chest as he
twisted his wrist to reveal a silver Rolex. "On
schedule."

He lowered both arms and began to roll

up the cuffs of his sleeves. He looked around, still

appearing very calm. The couch the dead man was sitting
on was in the middle of the room. Placed in front were
two single chairs, made of the same leather, facing the
fresh corpse. A rectangular glass table stood in the
middle with a design of a chessboard on the top, with
marble chess pieces still strewn out on the design in a
strategic fashion.
The man walked softly along the coffee brown
carpet in front of the wall-sized interior window
behind the couch. He was on the top floor on the east

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side of the building, overlooking the bustling

Teverskaya St. below that was brimming with life at the
late night hour. He scanned outside for anything
suspicious to his situation before grabbing both
curtains and slowly closing them. Turning around, he
made his way into another room where the bed was
located.
Kneeling beside the bed the man took off his
clothed white gloves, put them in his back pocket, and
took out a clear synthetic bag that contained a new
black pair. He slowly and carefully slipped them on,
adjusting the top of each finger in a particular way.
He extended both hands and examined the sides of each
glove. Once he was satisfied with what he saw, he
placed
his left hand firmly on the bed and reached underneath
with his right. His right hand found the handle to an
emerald green briefcase, quickly pulling it out and

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sliding it in front of his knees. It was attached to a

sturdy metal chain adhered to the floor.
He placed both hands firmly on the top of the
case, following the metal grooves with the top of his
fingers that led him to a six number combination. He
quickly clicked each number to match the ones to his
own memory. Holding his breath as the last one clacked
into place, the suitcase popped. He smiled.

The

case opened with the aid of his hands. Carefully he

slipped off the left glove with his teeth and grabbed
one of the white ones again. He put it on before
placing that hand inside in the case on the grey foam
that surrounded a small disc that reflected an image of
his grin. Slipping his left hand under the foam he
moved it around until he came into contact with a small
rectangular object. He grabbed it and held it up to the
light, it was a USB. As he pocketed the small storage
device he closed the briefcase, rolled the numbers, and
slid it back under the bed.

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The man stood to his feet again and stretched his

neck. He walked back into the room that was the home of
the dead body and made his way to one of the two
chairs. Standing behind one of them he began to roll
out his cuffs down his arms as he looked
at the carcass. His eyes traveled to the game of chess
and he halted what he was doing. Leaning over
carefully, he grabbed the white knight with his right
hand and moved it towards the king.
"Check mate," he said, smiling.
Standing straight, he grabbed his dark chestnut
coat off the chair in front of him, put it on, and
removed his gloves as he made his way to the door of
the room. He paused, letting out one deep breath before
he placed his hand on the knob and turned it. He did
not look back.
The hallway was vacant, it was not late enough for
anyone to be meandering back from the nightlife out in
the cold December air. He made his way down the hall to

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the elevator in no hurry, though he checked his watch

when he reached where he was going. Waiting for a few
seconds, he simply stared at his watch, until the
moment came when he suddenly jabbed the elevator call
button with his right hand. It opened. He stepped in.
It closed.
Once inside he pressed the circular three and one
buttons, setting the beast into motion. It slide down
and bounced to a halt when it reached the third floor.
The doors slide open and in walked a man in a charcoal
tuxedo, both hands in his pockets as he whistled the
Russian folksong "Korobeiniki". The two men stood
beside one another as the doors slid shut.
"Taking your time, John?" said the whistling man in a
thick
Russian accent.
"Only what I'm allowed to take," John
responded.

"Ha! That's just like you. And

here I was waiting for a good twenty minutes,

hoping to get home early."

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John shook his head. "Whatever you say, Gunter.

We're almost done, you can go home soon."
The two men stood still in the elevator,
accompanied by Gunter's whistling again, until they
reached the bottom. As soon as the door opened, the two
walked out and went separate ways. John walked out the
main entrance, giving a slight appreciative nod to the
doorman. He walked out into the cold and down the block
where he leaned against the side of a building, taking
out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his
jacket. The air was cold and the light snowfall kept it
that way, mirroring what he always felt after a kill.
It felt like beauty trapped in a leaking snow globe.
A car honked it's horn. It was Gunter. John put
the pack of cigarettes back in his coat, not having
enough time to smoke one.
John walked over to the car, taking a deep breath
that was seen in the chill of the air. He opened the
passenger door and dropped into the low riding car.

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"Hey, John," said Gunter. He put it in drive and

rolled away. A few minutes of silence passed. "So, my
friend, tell me why you are so punctual?"
"I follow the rules of the game"
"Ah, so it is a game for you!"
"Orders are to be followed."
Gunter chuckled. "Yes, I suppose they are.
Especially when they pay you good money. Oh, hey, when
do we report to Val?"
"He told me to contact him when we reach Khimki."
"He did? When?"
"After I reported the target was taken out." John
looked over to Gunter. "Why are you so talkative
tonight?"
Gunter glanced at John, frowning and shaking his
head.
"Just making conversation."
Another couple of minutes passed, they were
getting closer to Khimki, the city next to Moscow.
"Hey," Genter said, "did you wear the gloves?"

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John signed. "Yes, I wore the gloves and made sure

to touch as much as I could."
"And you left everything there, right?"
"I didn't take anything." John looked out the
window. "God, I wish you'd let me smoke in this junky
car. Your running my nerves thin."
Gunter shot John a look of anger. "Hey friend,
this is no junky car. This is my love! And I only ask
questions to make sure this all doesn't fall back on
us."
"Gunter," said John, slowly. "Who do you think I
am? I went in. Killed the man. And placed the prints of
his associate all over the briefcase. I'm good at this
kind of thing."
"But you left the case there, right? Still closed
and all?"

"Yes, the emerald case is still

there, with everything still inside. Just like we were

ordered. They'll think the associate went too far and
killed the man when he couldn't get the case open."

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"Right."
The two said nothing more. John shoved his hands
in his pockets, leaning back in the chair to rest. His
left hand was firmly gripping the USB. He had what he
was after, and nobody would ever know.