Harold was breathing hard as he skidded to a halt in an alley. He could hear the clatters and bangs construction work nearby. He had been running for hours, desperately trying to stay ahead of the man who was chasing him. He hadn't actually seen him yet, but a sixth sense had made him duck a moment before the bullet would have struck him in the temple. Instead, it had rippled through his blonde curls and lodged itself in a wall behind him.
He'd been running since then, and every now and then he'd heard the whistling of a bullet missing him inches. He tugged desperately at the handcuffs chaining the suitcase to his wrist, to no avail.
Footsteps. He turned around slowly, feeling very cold and very alone. Silhouetted briefly by the headlights of a passing car, Harold saw a dark figure standing at the end of the alley. The figure stepped closer, passing under a light, and his features became visible. He was at least six feet tall. His face was all angles and sharp edges; a black, bushy beard beneath his hawk nose. His eyes, like pools of liquid darkness, were fixed on Harold's.
"Please," Harold said before the man shot him three times.