Chapter 2

Lance Evans glanced at his watch. It was nearly nine-thirty in the evening, and he'd been at work since seven that morning. He rubbed his eyes and switched off his computer monitor. It had been a long day. He was tired and wanted to go home. He grabbed some legal briefs from his desk and placed them into his briefcase. He would look at them later.

He had been working for the law firm of Schuster, Weston, and Briggs for almost a year now, and he was finally getting noticed by some of the firm's partners. Unfortunately, this also meant that he needed to put in even longer hours to keep impressing them.

He got up from his desk and tightened his red, power tie, which he'd loosened earlier in the evening. He grabbed his black, pinstriped suit jacket, which he had slung over the back of his chair, and slipped his arms into it.

After making sure he looked presentable, just in case he ran into someone important while he was leaving, he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the office door. His office was small and plain, but having one made him feel important.

He grabbed his trench coat, which hung on a peg near the door, switched off the light, and closed the door behind him. He glanced down the hallway in both directions. Everyone else seemed to be gone.

The red light from an emergency exit sign dimly lit his end of the hall. At the other end, a faint glow came from the receptionist's area. He hated being the last one to leave; the silence was unnerving.

He walked down the hall toward the reception area, passing by the receptionist's desk to the glass, double doors that served as the firm's entrance. The lock to the door was at its base. He bent down, unlocked it, and swung open one of the doors. He stepped into the floor's main hallway and relocked it. At the middle of the hall was a bank of elevators and upon reaching them, he punched the down button.

The firm's offices were on the twenty-third floor and it took thirty seconds for the elevator to arrive. The elevator doors slid open. He stepped in, turned around, and pressed the button for the lobby. After a brief pause, the doors slid shut, and the elevator began its journey downward.

During the elevator's descent, he glanced at his reflection in the elevator doors. He liked what he saw. The elevator slowed and then jerked to a stop. The doors slid open, exposing the lobby. He stepped out of the elevator and was greeted by the night watchman, Henry.

"Working late again, Mr. Evans?" Henry asked with a smile.

"Late nights go with the job, just like yours," he replied, yawning as he walked by Henry's desk toward the exit.

"Ain't that right? Do you want me to call you a cab, Mr. Evans?"

"No thanks, I'll walk. It'll help me unwind."

"Okay. Have a nice evening."

"Same to you, Henry."

He pushed through the revolving doors. A cool spring breeze swept past his face. It was late March in Chicago. He pulled on his trench coat and wrapped it tightly around his body. The days were getting warmer, but the nights were still cold.

He lived ten blocks from the office and he enjoyed walking to and from work. He loved Chicago. His office building was on Michigan Avenue and his apartment was northwest of there on Chestnut Street. As he began walking, the spring breeze pushed him along from behind.

He reached Chestnut Street and headed west. As he passed a darkened alley, a man suddenly stepped out from the shadows and approached him.

"Hey man, can you spare some change?" the stranger asked, startling Lance.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any change?" he replied as he quickened his step to get past the man.

Dressed in a dirty, green army jacket and ripped blue jeans, the man was definitely someone he did not want to have a conversation with on this dark and sparsely populated street.

"Well, instead of your change, I'll just take all your cash." The man pulled out a double action 9mm Smith and Wesson and pointed it at him. "Now, don't be a fool and you won't get hurt."

"What?" Lance squeaked as he saw the gun.

A black baseball cap, pulled down low, obscured the man's face from view. However, from the tone in the man's voice, he knew the man was serious, and he intended to comply fully with his assailant's commands.

"You heard what I said. Now, let's walk over here, where we won't be disturbed." The man grabbed the back of Lance's coat, shoved the handgun into his kidney, and led him thirty feet into the alley.

"What do you want?" he begged, as he turned to face his attacker.

"I already told you. I want your money."

He fumbled with his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Here, take it. It's yours."

"Thank you." A smile appeared on the mugger's face. "Now, give me your Rolex and that nice expensive ring of yours."

He reluctantly took off the items.

"Here," he groaned in disgust, handing his belongings to the mugger. He hated being helpless and scared.

"What's in the briefcase?"

"Just some work papers."

"Give it to me," the mugger ordered.

"I told you, it just has work papers in it."

"I don't care. Give it to me," ordered the man one last time, jabbing the gun hard into his stomach.

He winced in pain, then handed the mugger his briefcase.

"Now, your coat!" his assailant barked.

"Give me a break. You've already got my money, my watch, my ring," he pleaded.

"I guess I'm just greedy. Now, give me the coat, or I'll kill you." The mugger stated it so coolly that it sent shivers down his spine.

He knew immediately that the man had killed before and wouldn't mind doing it again. He quickly obeyed the order. He took off his coat and handed it to the man.

"You have everything. Now may I go? " he asked.

"There's one more thing I need from you."

"What now? You've taken everything," he groaned.

"I need your life," his attacker replied, pulling the gun's trigger twice and sending two bullets into his belly.

Lance grabbed his bloody stomach and dropped to his knees. He looked at his killer, a shocked expression covering his face. Then, the man shot him one last time and walked casually away, without saying another word.

As he lay on the cold pavement, he could feel his life slipping away, and a thought crossed his mind. It would be his final thought. Why did the mugger kill him, when he'd gotten everything he asked for?