She hesitated. “From a friend.”
“Exactly. I’m betting it was one of our satisfied customers.” He took out a small green notebook, gave her a grin. “We don’t have any unsatisfied ones.”
“Who are they?” she asked. “Your customers. In general, I mean.”
“In general?” He shrugged. “Ordinary people. Angry housewives. A shadow baby or two. Sometimes it’s just…what a woman must do.”
“So it’s mostly women.”
“Oh, no. A lot of men hire us too. Let’s just say your needs are not unique.”
“That’s how you look at it then? You’re supplying a need?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I assume you’ve read our brochure?”
She nodded.
“And was there anything that particularly caught your eye?”
“Would it make a difference?” she asked. “In terms of cost?”
“Most definitely. It’s a bit like ordering pizza—the more toppings, i.e., the more exotica, the more expense.” He clicked the point of his Cross pen—a cheerful gesture designed to put her at her ease. But it didn’t. She’d been lying to herself, she suddenly realized. Pretending to explore her options. She had no options. She was in this for keeps. She gave a long sigh.
“If anyone were to find out—”
“No one will,” he assured her. “Anonymity is our motto. And it works both ways. For instance, I’m just the one who signs you up. I won’t be providing the services.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Too bad. I was just beginning to like you, Hiram.”
Again he grinned. “That’s my job. Do you have any questions? Any preferences?”
“Yes.” She almost whispered it. “I want to know what happens to…the leftovers.”
“The remains? Not to worry. We take care of all that. It goes to a place where the sea remembers. A rainy lake. And there’s no telling. After all—the body is water, you know…” He paused and gave her a quizzical look. “Would you mind if I asked you a question? For our private files? How much did they take you for?”
“Twenty thousand,” she said gloomily.
He whistled. “The price keeps going up.”
“At first they said it would be $688. But when they found out I wasn’t just another crook like them—that I was the real Kendra Schilling trying to buy back my own domain name— they jacked the price up.”
“Highway robbery,” Hiram said.
Kendra took the last swallow of her Syrah. “You know, I never thought it would come to this. When my lawyer said there was nothing I could do—”
“Nothing legal, that is.” Hiram smiled. “People don’t usually find out about this scam until they decide to get a web-site. And suddenly you discover that someone has bought your name, and for a tidy little piece of your income they’ll be only too happy to sell it back to you.”
“The worst part is how darned chipper they are about it,”Kendra said. “Hey, congratulations, you lucky thing, now you own your own name again!”
“Kind of sticks in your craw, doesn’t it?”
“Like having a bee in my bonnet.”
“They’re jackals,” he said. “Hanging’s too good for them.”
“They prey upon a person’s ignorance and lack of computer savvy.”
“You’re savvy-less,” Hiram said. “But not helpless. Not anymore. Not when you’ve got us. We’re Assassins Anonymous. The score-settlers.” He leaned back on his stool. “So have you picked out a weapon? We have some premium choices—the 9mm Glock, the Mercedes-Benz, the magic whip…”
She waved them away. “Nothing that smacks of luxury.”
“Right. Sets the wrong tone. Something cruder. Baseball bat. Clothesline. Hair dryer in the tub—”
She covered her ears.
“Or you can simply leave it to us. Some prefer the hands-on approach. Others only want to be informed after the fact. Are there any modes of elimination that especially interest you?”
“Yes,” she said carefully, “I like cruel and unusual.”
He entered this in his green notebook. “Multiple wound-ings? Dismemberment? Recitation of suitable Bible verses…?”
“You mean like in Pulp Fiction?” she asked. “That was effective, wasn’t it? Samuel L. Jackson played that to the hilt. Yes, I think a Bible verse might be appropriate. Do I need to come up with it myself?”
“Not at all,” Hiram said. “We have a number of them in stock. You are of your father, the devil…John, Chapter viii, Verse 44. Or, It biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder… Proverbs, Chapter xxiii, Verse 32. Another favorite is Sweet is revenge—especially to women. Lord Byron. From Don Juan.”
“Could I get back to you on this?” Kendra asked. “I think I may want to compose something.”
“Very good.” He made a note.
“Now, about payment—” Kendra said.
His turn to wave. “Someone else handles all that. You’ll be contacted on completion of the contract. We’re flexible. If you like, you can spread the payments over a number of months.”
“I was more concerned about how to get the money to you,” Kendra said. “I don’t want to write a check.”
“Nor would we want to cash one,” he agreed. “No— unmarked bills in a number 10 envelope works best for us. After the damage is controlled.”
“And the score is settled. I guess you’re the Venus flytrap of the cyber world these days.”
He nodded. “The cat’s pajamas.”
“The tiger rising.”
“The strangler fig.”
Kendra laughed. “You’re a trickling tributary of truisms tonight, Hiram.”
“A churning channel of chestnuts,” he said cheerfully. And before she could top him, he got up from the stool, dropping a twenty onto the bar. “A pleasure doing business with you, Kendra.” And with that he was gone. Kendra, too, rose from her stool. She felt like a million bucks. Life was good. People would get their just desserts. She picked up the red carnation—proof of purchase—and tucked it into her purse. Come to think of it, there were several messy situations in her life that could stand some cleaning up. Hiram, she thought. Hire’em she would. Hang the cost; it would be worth every penny.
BLASTED
by Mary Logue
Kenwood (Minneapolis)
When were you the most scared in your whole life?”
Claire Watkins looked over at her gangly teenaged daughter Meg, who was somehow managing to slouch while still wearing her seat belt. Nice to have her darling self-involved daughter ask her a question.
Claire was driving them up to the big city. The Mississippi River flowed in the opposite direction as they passed along it going to the Twin Cities. Specifically they were headed to Minneapolis to go shoe shopping, a big treat for both of them. School was starting soon.
“The most scared?” Claire stalled. She didn’t need to think about it. There was no contest. One moment in her long career in law enforcement stood out in her mind.
“Yeah, you know, heart-zapping, teeth-chattering fear. You know, the whole ball of wax?”
“The whole ball of wax? Jeez, you sound like Rich.”
“Whatever, Mom, you know—petrified?”
Claire had never told Meg about this event in her life, had always thought that she would save it for when she was older. But Meg was going to be fifteen in a few months; maybe she was old enough to hear it.
“There was one time when I was pretty petrified.”
“Tell me, tell me.” Meg pulled herself up straighter.
“Are you sure?”
“Come on, tell me. We have an hour before we get to DSW,” Meg said, referring to her favorite shoe store.