Chapter One

He slept deeply under the cheap sheets, bought on clearance at Family Dollar three years ago. An anemic bar of light from the pulsing sign across the street lay on his face, the only source of illumination in the otherwise bleak and shabby one-room apartment. All the gilding of an unremarkable life lay around him in almost artistic heaps and drifts. Overflowing ashtrays, empty pizza boxes, dirty dishes, even dirtier magazines. Every cheap and nasty accoutrement imaginable lay haphazardly dashed right to the corners and under the bed. And this…this was a perfect snapshot of Hollis Elmore's life.

A truck rumbled past outside, rattling the windows. Hollis snorted in his sleep. The half-empty bottle of bourbon he cuddled to his chest like a teddy bear slipped from his grasp. It never reached the floor. And that's when his eyelids fluttered. Somewhere in his primal brain he knew that there should have been a crash. But in his drunken, unclear state it took him a full three minutes to open his eyes. And by that time the gun was already pressed to his head. It was the shock of cold steel that fully woke him.

"What the fuck?" he grunted, blinking.

"Shut up."

The voice was low, husky, female. Hollis froze, trying to see the face of his attacker, trying to figure out which side of the bed she was even on. There was a soft sigh, a shifting, and the sound of drinking. A heavy swallow, then another. The click of what was presumably his bourbon bottle being set down. The right of him…she was somewhere to the right of him. Damn it, he couldn't even see. The gun was withdrawn, but an ominous feeling in his stomach told Hollis that it was definitely still trained upon him in the blackness. The chair beside his bed creaked.

"Wh-who are you?" He whispered, "Look, whatever you're being paid to be here…"

The woman made a soft sound of derision.

"You'll what, exactly? Double it? No, I don't think so. I'm not an assassin. Nothing of the sort. Besides, you haven't got a damn thing I want. No one sent me. I came here of my own accord to settle a very sizeable debt."

Hollis wracked his brains, the last vestiges of the previous night's drunken haze vanishing in the adrenaline rush of mortal fear. The light snapped on suddenly, shocking his eyes.

A woman sat in the chair by his bed, one hand on the light switch. Her other hand held a 9mm pistol pointed at his head. Her hair was the first thing he noticed, a mass of screamy red curls that might be attractive if they were looked after. Her clothing was unremarkable, plain. She wore no makeup. No jewels that he could see, apart from a plain silver wedding band on her left hand that caught the light. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, in that uncertain in-between time where it is impossible to fix an exact age on a woman. He stared at her face, her hair, trying like hell to place her. She leaned back in the chair and watched him, face impassive. God, those eyes. Something in those haunted, steady eyes…. He looked away, focusing on the gun.

"What the hell do you mean, a debt? You've got the wrong man, lady. I lead a quiet life. My crazy days are way behind me. I've paid back every fucking DIME of my gambling debts!"

"Hollis Elmore. Lowlife, would-be assassin, petty thief, hoodlum, demented fool who crawled out of the chill waters of Lake Tahoe gasping and shaking like a fish evolving lungs with which to breath. Forced, bloody evolution! Oh Christ, that's hilarious…God." She passed a hand briefly over her eyes, trembling. Hollis shifted on the bed and her hand came down immediately, the gun rising in a significant gesture of aggression.

"This bitch is batshit insane,' Hollis thought, sitting back. His eyes flicked from the gun to her pale face, back to the gun.

"I don't have the wrong man. I spent six god damn years searching for you. I can assure you…it was worth every moment of hell just to be sitting here now. Yes. You owe me a debt. But it's not something you have the power to repay. Not even with your life," She drew a shaky breath and continued, "Six years ago you took something away from me. Something precious and dear and rare. You killed a man. You killed a man who had a wife. A family. People who relied on him –"

"NO! No, now I KNOW you've got the wrong guy!" Hollis violently shook his head, holding up his maimed hands in supplication. "I swear to God, lady! You said it yourself, I'm a WOULD-BE assassin! I never went pro! The men I ran with in my wilder days, the men who were breaking me into the business, they were all killed on the same day I lost my fingers! Some filthy stupid rednecks took us all out before we even had a chance to perform the contracted hit! Hell, we didn't even make it to the hotel! Well…I mean, they didn't. My friends."

The woman's jaw clenched. Tears filled her eyes, and rage shook in her voice.

"Filthy…stupid…rednecks, Hollis?"

And then it dawned on him. Hollis had, in fact, killed one person. Just one. One in his whole life. He moaned, covering his mouth with the stumps of his fingers.

"Oh shit. You…you're…" he looked at her left hand again, at the wedding band, and he slowly shook his head, "You're his widow. That skinny fucker had a wife."

The woman didn't even react to the insult this time. She nodded, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"People call me the Red Widow." She said softly, sadly. "And before I kill you, I'm going to tell you what you took from me."