the smuggler’s bible

Itri

Itri checks the knots, then flings a single evil glare over his shoulder and kicks the filing cabinet into the elevator shaft. The rope at his feet hisses as coils are pulled whipping through the air.

“This is really, really dumb.”

“Well, you did it.”

“No. In fact, you will recall that I am on record objecting most strenuously.”

“But somebody had to,” Itri says, eyeing the rope. He wonders if jumping at the right moment might lessen the shock.

“There’s time to unfasten yourself.”

A sly grin spreads on Itri’s face.

“wait, no.”

“I knew you wanted a shot.”