“Not at all,” Hiram said. “We have a number of them in stock.
“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
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.
“Well, this was a long time ago. I was still new at the job, working in Minneapolis. Not quite a rookie, maybe I had been a cop for a few years. I answered a call. A domestic. It’s the worst call a cop can get.”
“Why?”
“Well, because people are usually killed by those that love them. Passion gets out of hand very fast.”
“Go on.”
“I remember it was very late at night. Technically, early morning. Three-thirty, as I recall.”
“What was your shift?”
“I was working the midnight-to-8 shift. Brutal. I don’t know how I could have done that. I certainly couldn’t do it anymore. Good thing we moved down to Fort St. Antoine.”
Claire saw they were catching up to a northbound train near Diamond Bluff. She loved this drive up along the river. She had driven it so many times, it demanded nothing of her. She could watch the scenery and talk to her daughter.
When Meg nudged her, she continued her story: “The wife had called in, the dispatcher told me—she sounded drunk, he said. She claimed her husband was threatening to kill her.”
“That sounds bad.”
“Yeah, and I was on my own, which was unusual. My partner had gotten sick in the middle of the shift and I had dropped him off at home. I was heading back to the squad room to do some paperwork when I got the call. My mistake was I took it.
“The first surprise was the address the dispatcher gave me. It was in Kenwood, an older, very nice neighborhood in Minneapolis. I drove up to the house and wanted to move in. It was probably built in the ’20s and had leaded windows, a tiled roof, even a turret. I remember walking up to the house and lusting after it.”
“Then what?”
