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The man bent over a disheveled desk, his back aching, his eyes bleary, his hands putting the finishing touches on an expensive cuckoo clock.

Kids these days...watching too many bad movies. Abduction during the night, black sack over his head, 2 hour, 12 minute, 38 second ride...designed to disorient. As if he hadn't been through worse in his life...

Laughing inwardly, if there was one thing he was perfect at, it was measuring time. A thickly sliced rye bread and cheese sandwich sat uneaten near his right elbow. His dead wife made a disparaging remark about the lack of a proper plate as well as the overall state of his appearance.

He nodded in agreement as he recalled other places, other jobs, other demanding clients. He had done it for the money and for that he was ashamed. The money was supposed to save her but Fate had other plans.

Not this time, Miriam, not this time. He placed a miniature camera in the cuckoo's mouth.

"Come on, old man. You haven't got all day", followed by the rude jab of a gun to the back of his wrinkled neck.

Fleeting smile as the old man imagined the death and destruction that would not occur this night, the faces of those responsible for past atrocities captured clearly in 60 FPS as the repaired cuckoo called out the eighth hour while he and his grandchildren celebrated Purim far away.

Rubbing his arthritic fingers, he asked for yellow mustard for the sandwich. His dead wife laughed, knowing exactly how he would squiggle the mustard over the cheese.