It had come to this. The man stared at the semi-automatic pistol in his shaking hand before shoving it into his belt and buttoning his suit jacket over it. He took a deep breath and went to meet his friend for the last time.

Eleven months earlier. .

“That’s your plan?!” Alexander Corbin didn’t hide his skepticism. Corbin, an attorney, was a couple years out of law school and not yet thirty. He and his officemate were at Fiddeja’s, a restaurant where they typically spent their lunches. Apart from them, Fiddeja’s was empty today because of the sleet.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Evan Beckett, running his fingers through his tousled hair. Beckett neared forty, and unlike the younger Corbin, who favored designer suits and ties, Beckett’s clothing was well-worn, his shoes were unpolished, and he generally looked disheveled.

“Is it legal?”

Beckett shifted uneasily. “It’s not illegal.”

“Wanna try and explain that one?” Corbin asked, finishing his beer.

“You know what I mean. It’s not technically legal, but no one gets hurt. No harm, no foul!” Beckett said with a smile.

Corbin laughed. “Wait a minute! Aren’t you the guy who lectured me a few months back that ‘right is right and wrong is wrong no matter what the circumstances’?”

Beckett pointed at himself. “Moi?”

“Vous. In fact, if I remember correctly, you said ‘stealing is always wrong because theft is the deprivation of the labor of another,’ which you said was ‘akin to slavery.’ Then you called me ‘morally vacant’ and said I should go to church. Any of that sound familiar?”

“You should go to church. Faith is the foundation of happiness.”

“Uh huh, sure. Now that you’re advocating theft, when should I expect an apology?”