across the gas port. Sophie scratched its ears.
Finally, Lois said, “I killed deer and geese when I was a kid on my grandma’s farm. In Nam I killed at least two of the enemy. But I don’t think I could stand it if the bad guys employ us to go after the good guys. There’s a difference for me when I consider the things I shoot as meat for dinner or as the enemy.”
Sophie passed the paper to Lois. “Well, take a look at least.”
Lois read, then looked up. “This is a lot of money.”
Sophie grabbed a paper towel and began working on spots of gun oil that shone on the checkered tablecloth.
Lois said, “I need a new spring and a cleaning kit before I can use this weapon again.”
“Should we order from the Internet?”
“Don’t think so. They’d have to mail the stuff to this address. A gun show’s coming up in Rockford. No one would trace the stuff I need from there. I’ll see what I can get. I’ll need cash though.”
Sophie pulled the gas port from beneath the indignant cat. “You know, pipe cleaners might work for this—they come in fairly large sizes.”
Lois stood and crossed the kitchen to the sink, where she filled an empty Tupperware pitcher with cool water.
Sophie said, “You’ve been thinking about Ruby again, haven’t you?”
Lois nodded. “I sometimes wonder what her life would have been like if I’d left her in Vietnam.”
“The war went on for several more years. She wouldn’t have survived.”
“I told Nghuy Tran I’d give her a good life. Maybe death would have been better than the way things turned out here.”
Sophie stood behind Lois and lightly massaged the back of her neck. “You gave her the opportunity to have a good life. She threw it away.”
Lois sighed and turned around. They embraced, and Lois said into Sophie’s shoulder, “Will you ever forgive her?”
The kitchen was quiet again. The refrigerator motor kicked on. Finally Sophie said, “I don’t know.”
Lois pulled away and went to the back door. A leather leash was looped over a coat hook near the mudroom and the basement steps. She pushed the back door open and said, almost as an afterthought, “I’m going to give Daisy some water and walk her before it starts to rain.”
As it turned out, thanks to word-of-mouth, they got another ex-husband job in Indiana, up north in Muncie, before they met the woman who contacted them through Dirty Work for Hire.
Chapter Five
Morgan Holiday’s pager went off at four fifteen in the morning. The room was cold and dark except for narrow strips from the streetlight that fell through the slats in the plantation shutters. Still half-asleep, she shut off the pager, nestled down under the blanket, and closed her eyes again. It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when the thing went off again. She rolled to a sitting position, placed both feet on the cold hardwood floor, fumbled for the lamp switch, and grabbed the pager. As she tried to focus on the number, she realized she could hear the telephone in the kitchen ringing. She stood. Two pages and the telephone; this couldn’t be good.
In the kitchen, squinting at the harsh overhead light, she picked up the phone. “What?”
Henry’s voice was raspy. “You awake?”
“No.”
“Night-shift dispatcher just woke me. They got an officer out on a call. He needs Homicide.”
Morgan ran her tongue over her dry lips. Nestling the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, she pulled a juice glass from the dish drainer, filled it with tap water, and gulped it down. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I need to find something to write on.”
*
The sky in the east was turning gray by the time Morgan unlocked her car door and slid behind the wheel. As she turned the key, she hit the windshield wipers to remove the condensation. Then the loud rhythmic beat of the stereo filled the little red Saturn. She quickly turned it down.
A kid she’d babysat years ago had given her the CD, ironically titled Ready
Finally, Lois said, “I killed deer and geese when I was a kid on my grandma’s farm. In Nam I killed at least two of the enemy. But I don’t think I could stand it if the bad guys employ us to go after the good guys. There’s a difference for me when I consider the things I shoot as meat for dinner or as the enemy.”
Sophie passed the paper to Lois. “Well, take a look at least.”
Lois read, then looked up. “This is a lot of money.”
Sophie grabbed a paper towel and began working on spots of gun oil that shone on the checkered tablecloth.
Lois said, “I need a new spring and a cleaning kit before I can use this weapon again.”
“Should we order from the Internet?”
“Don’t think so. They’d have to mail the stuff to this address. A gun show’s coming up in Rockford. No one would trace the stuff I need from there. I’ll see what I can get. I’ll need cash though.”
Sophie pulled the gas port from beneath the indignant cat. “You know, pipe cleaners might work for this—they come in fairly large sizes.”
Lois stood and crossed the kitchen to the sink, where she filled an empty Tupperware pitcher with cool water.
Sophie said, “You’ve been thinking about Ruby again, haven’t you?”
Lois nodded. “I sometimes wonder what her life would have been like if I’d left her in Vietnam.”
“The war went on for several more years. She wouldn’t have survived.”
“I told Nghuy Tran I’d give her a good life. Maybe death would have been better than the way things turned out here.”
Sophie stood behind Lois and lightly massaged the back of her neck. “You gave her the opportunity to have a good life. She threw it away.”
Lois sighed and turned around. They embraced, and Lois said into Sophie’s shoulder, “Will you ever forgive her?”
The kitchen was quiet again. The refrigerator motor kicked on. Finally Sophie said, “I don’t know.”
Lois pulled away and went to the back door. A leather leash was looped over a coat hook near the mudroom and the basement steps. She pushed the back door open and said, almost as an afterthought, “I’m going to give Daisy some water and walk her before it starts to rain.”
As it turned out, thanks to word-of-mouth, they got another ex-husband job in Indiana, up north in Muncie, before they met the woman who contacted them through Dirty Work for Hire.
Chapter Five
Morgan Holiday’s pager went off at four fifteen in the morning. The room was cold and dark except for narrow strips from the streetlight that fell through the slats in the plantation shutters. Still half-asleep, she shut off the pager, nestled down under the blanket, and closed her eyes again. It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when the thing went off again. She rolled to a sitting position, placed both feet on the cold hardwood floor, fumbled for the lamp switch, and grabbed the pager. As she tried to focus on the number, she realized she could hear the telephone in the kitchen ringing. She stood. Two pages and the telephone; this couldn’t be good.
In the kitchen, squinting at the harsh overhead light, she picked up the phone. “What?”
Henry’s voice was raspy. “You awake?”
“No.”
“Night-shift dispatcher just woke me. They got an officer out on a call. He needs Homicide.”
Morgan ran her tongue over her dry lips. Nestling the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, she pulled a juice glass from the dish drainer, filled it with tap water, and gulped it down. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I need to find something to write on.”
*
The sky in the east was turning gray by the time Morgan unlocked her car door and slid behind the wheel. As she turned the key, she hit the windshield wipers to remove the condensation. Then the loud rhythmic beat of the stereo filled the little red Saturn. She quickly turned it down.
A kid she’d babysat years ago had given her the CD, ironically titled Ready
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