Simms looked up as he lay on the floor. He was covered in blood and brain matter, but it was Dorson’s. The shot had come from the doorway; someone had come in at the last second and taken out Dorson. Simms tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, but his hands were also covered. The round had hit the right spot, taking most of Dorson’s head off and making a mess of anything in front of him. Suddenly, Simms felt a tug on his arm, and he was being led somewhere in the room. Then the sound of running water.
Was it a shower in the bathroom?
The other person said nothing; they just shoved him into the stall and under the running water. Simms raised his hands as if to shield himself from any bullets, even though he knew it was pointless. The shot had been silent, which meant a suppressor. Dorson
