The attempt on your life today was the last shred of evidence you needed. You've been snooping a little too much, getting a little too close, and a local criminal organization had a price on your head. You take the next exit, driving into the heart of the city, and eventually stopping at a small Italian diner.
The diner is mostly empty, except for one aging man sitting alone at a booth. "A little cliche, isn't it, Murphy?" you call out to him.
"I'm sorry it had to go this way, kid," he answers.
You lift your gun and point it at him. "And which way is that?" you ask.
He doesn't answer, just nods. The nod doesn't even seen directed at you. You hear the gunshot and feel and explosion of pain in your torso and realize that, no, it wasn't directed at you at all.