The Game(Darrell Case) He should have never missed her. One second, she was in his sights, the next gone. They paid him well. A hundred thousand to kill her. Final payout a million and a half to kill her and bury her where no one could find her. She appeared again just down the street. He rounded the corner in time to see her disappear underground. He flew down the stairs to the subway. The train was just pulling out. She stared at him. A beautiful woman, a deadly woman. He couldn’t shoot too many witnesses. She crooks her finger at him. She pointed to the wall.
The signal was unmistakable. Come and get me, or worse, play my game. And it was her game.

There it was, an address written in lipstick. Her address, or at least the one where she would meet him. 2504 Wilburn. He knew the place well. Her father’s home. A big rambling mansion overlooking the ocean. To his knowledge, no one had lived there in over twenty years.
He approached the house with caution. Did she see him? Was she watching? Avoiding the gate, he climbed the overgrown wall. She expected him to come waltzing in the front door?
Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet.

He rounded the north side of the house, his 9 mm pointed at the ground. According to the rules, he must put two bullets in her head. None in her body.
At the servant’s door, he tried the knob. Unlocked. Carefully, he pushed it open. He never saw the cobra. It struck, releasing its venom in his thigh. He stepped back with a terrified cry. The door crashed open. She rushed at him, the snake in her hands. He stumbled and fell, dropping the pistol. The bushes seemed to him to be on her side. He backpedaled. She threw the cobra at him. It landed on his chest, sinking its fangs into his neck. He pushed it away, suffering another bite to his arm. His vision blurred; he saw black spots before his eyes.
“No, no, no, I was supposed to kill you. I…” His throat tightened up. He tried to scream. It wouldn’t come.
The woman watched him die.

Inside the house, the woman put the snake back in its cage.
She turned to the man who had hired the killer. Her husband. She kissed him. “Well, that was interesting.”
“You did well, my dear.” He poured them both a glass of wine. “Here is your bet. You won hands down.” He handed her two crisp one-dollar bills.
“Next time we try you.” She said, raising her glass. In the garden of the old house, they buried the assassin alongside the others.

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