Frank waited, looking straight at the man’s killer eye. The end of the gun barrel wavered slightly. The man squeezed the trigger, the hammer moving back to the c**k position, then it released. There was a loud click as the hammer banged against the metal frame of the gun. The man knitted his eyebrows together in puzzlement, then pulled the trigger again—another misfire.
Frank took advantage of the moment, picked up a heavy bronze bookend from his desk, and threw it. The bookend hit the man squarely in the forehead. He dropped the gun and fell backward like a statue being pushed over.
Frank slowly walked the five or six paces over to the man. A corner of the bookend had embedded itself in the man’s forehead, not deep enough to remain fixed, but deep enough to kill him. Blood ran down the
