What Happened At the Train Station

If the passersby noticed the transaction between the young gentleman and the elderly woman, they gave no sign. 

It could have been any one of numerous reasonable scenarios. It could have been a grandmother wishing her grandson well on his travels to another city. She’d reached into her handbag for the handkerchief embroidered with pink carnations and daubed at her weepy eyes. She’d asked him to please write more often, and he’d agreed, gently hugging her shoulders, briefcase held awkwardly askew.

It could have been a foreign gentleman asking for directions, or for a pen with which to write down his train departure details. He’d felt lost, but confident that this kind older woman would direct him with the careful compassion with which she embraced her many grandchildren, for grandmothers were always kind, weren’t they? She’d reached into her handbag for a small pad on which the foreign gentleman could scribble out the gist of his questions. And it had been a successful exchange, for the gentleman had been able to find his way, and all was well.

It could have been the elderly woman who needed help, and upon seeing this young businessman, she’d softly called out to him. She’d reached into her handbag for her train ticket, and she’d asked him to help her interpret the details, for her eyes were no longer young, and even with the spectacles, they struggled to make out the small type. The gentleman had been of the utmost help, polite and understanding, for she reminded him of his own grandmother, so fragile and sweet.

Yes, it could have been any of those scenarios. So the passersby just passed on by, and the lookers-on, well, they didn’t look very closely, did they? If they had, they might have noticed the glint of the pistol in the old woman’s handbag. They might have noticed the terseness with which the man spoke as he showed the old woman the photo of a man she should expect to find at the gate for the Carolinian Train 79. They might have noticed the swiftness with which the old lady took the briefcase, which, they couldn’t have known, held almost $100,000. They might have noticed the old woman walk quickly -- more quickly than one would expect of an elderly woman in high-heeled shoes -- toward the gate for the Carolinian Train 79 and deftly pull the pistol from her purse and almost imperceptibly lodge a single bullet into the back of the man in the photograph … and then quietly walk away, unnoticed by the crowd that was now gasping and gathering upon the fallen man.

It was a brilliant plan by the young mercenary, for who would ever suspect a darling elderly woman? Which was, indeed, why she was now heading for the path the young mercenary had taken: Her second bullet would be worth another hundred grand.