Accident

"Where's the holster?"

Coheen stood in front of his mirror, hands on his hips, fingers twitching with impatience and nervous sweat. He was looking grudgingly at the door, waiting for an answer.

"Where's my fuckin' holster?!"

"Shit, hold on." His bumbling assistant stumbled through the door, trying to pull his trousers up. From the crook of his arm, he tossed up a bolster, with a gun tucked inside. "Here ya go."

"No! You idiot!"

It was too late. The holster landed on the bed and a crack broke the air. Coheen watched his assistant jerk suddenly backwards and collapse against the door, slumping to the floor, a pile of business suit, cheap cologne, and brain blood that sprayed onto the door behind him.

"Aw shit..." Shaking his head, he picked up the holster and equipped it, before dragging the body into the tub in the bathroom. Stupid assistants, he thought. It's the third in a month.

He wiped his hands off and left the hotel room.