Time was running out.
I fumble with the paperwork, desperately looking for that tell-tale ripped corner.
I start panicking but force myself to hold it together.
My fingers find what I'm looking for; I pull it out in one swift movement.
A single word spoken on the radio.
A car door slams, footsteps running away. My heart starts beating again.
I plunge my hand back into the desk drawer, once again rummaging.
I feel the cold metal on my fingers, grasp it.
I swing the small pistol, cocking it as I aim it at my own head.