Author: Guede Mazaka
“…her father’s got an enormous potting shed, so we stuck the bodies in the compost heap. I hear they’ve improved the roses a lot.” Martin looked both ways before sneaking his olive out of his martini and sucking the vermouth from it. Funny how Debi had a problem with that, but got the hang of bloodstains pretty…not that he was questioning his good luck or anything. Bad karma, that.
“No kidding.” John knocked back his martini and leaned against the counter, ostensibly scoping the room. His eyes couldn’t keep more than three seconds from his wife’s ass, though admittedly Jane had been the secret wet dream of the brotherhood for the past eight years and didn’t look like she was relinquishing the title any time soon. “You lucky bastard. I always wanted to pop Grocer one, just for being such a…”
“…tasteless sell-out? Yeah, he really should’ve gone into marketing.” Of course, Debi wasn’t an assassin, so there wasn’t any comparisons possible. Good thing, else Martin might have to spend the evening talking himself out of a guilt-trip. She did the weirdest things to him. But in a good way. A really good way. Always. Honest.
Her garter was showing through her skirt-slit. Martin shifted around so his jacket would help cover up; John caught him at it and smiled knowingly. “Gonna chance a wedding?”
“Eh…we’re both kind of burned out from commitment issues. Maybe after a couple more therapy sessions. Speaking of, how’d you find a guy that wasn’t scared shitless of you?” Jane and Debi were cooing over something that involved a lot of flashing cutlery. Like knives. But when Martin tried to crane his head, Jane moved to block his view. Damn.
“Didn’t tell him that that’s what I do. Jesus, you mean you actually—”
“I know, I know. It was a—I thought it wasn’t going to work if he didn’t know, you know? I mean, maybe he’d get a wrong read on me if he thought I was a…a real estate agent.” Martin thought about saving his toothpick, then decided against it. If three professionals had cleared this place as neutral ground, then he probably wasn’t going to have to stab anyone in the eyeball. “So…”
John shrugged. “We’re on a break from business. Couple months, taking stock of the new options. You?”
“Mostly taking a breather. Debi hasn’t gotten around to telling me how flexible her morality is. I still have a couple loose strings that might want to hang me.” A good hit, Martin thought, but John played it cool. Debi glanced coyly over her shoulder, then looked at the staircase. Martin decided it was a great opening to get her away from the knives. She might start getting into it, and that went places he wasn’t prepared to discuss with his therapist. “So we can reschedule this whole thing for three months from now? There’s a nice stretch of desert in the Mojave where we could…get things settled.”
“I’ll talk it over with the missus and get back to you,” John said, also getting up. He was eyeing the steak knife Jane was holding with a bit of wariness. “We’ll call.”