"This message is for the man who calls himself Paul Renner." He cleared his throat. "Paul, please listen. We need to get treatment for those afflicted with MPS. We aren't asking for you to surrender yourself. We aren't…we aren't even asking for you to give us your whereabouts. We just want to help those in need. The government is willing to pay handsomely for this information, both in money and…and the possibility of a presidential pardon. Please call before it's too late. We…I…. Please call." Gene looked down.
The screen switched back to the anchor, who wore her best "grave and serious" face. "Again, that was Special Agent Gene Palomini of the FBI, asking for alleged assassin Paul Renner, the same man who broke the story just a week ago, to surrender the list of those suffering from MPS. More on this story as it breaks." It was the sixth appeal that Paul had seen since he'd sent the information to CNN, but the first from Gene.
Paul turned off the TV and looked down at the list. Quite a few names had been crossed off: people who had died of causes natural or unnatural, from heart attacks to car accidents to simple old age. Many had died over the past couple decades trying to commit homicide of one form or another. For the hundredth time tears sprang to his eyes.
He wiped them away and stood. He put the list into an envelope, then stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He grabbed a semiautomatic pistol from the table and tucked it into the back of his pants.
He dropped the envelope into the mailbox outside the lobby. It was addressed to Special Agent Gene Palomini of the FBI. That done, he walked to the parking lot and got into the silver sedan he'd rented earlier that day.
An hour later, Paul Renner knocked on the door to his Lake Tahoe cabin. "Just a minute!" came the reply. He took a breath, held it, then let it out. His dad opened the door, ever-present cup of coffee in his hand and a worried smile on his face. He wore forest camouflage and a black WWE baseball cap.
"Hey, Steve," he said, and wrapped him in a hug. He pulled back and looked his son in the eyes. "You been watching the news?"
"Yes."
Kevin Parsons clapped Paul on the shoulder. "Well, come on in, the coffee's only about an hour old." He stepped into the house, still talking. "You in town for long? I could sure use the company about now."
"No, I'm not going to be here long. How about that coffee?" As Kevin turned toward the pot, Paul's hand went behind his back, up under his jacket.
Thirty seconds later, Paul Renner left the house, alone.