Go-Between

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She still wondered if she’d made the right decision.

She’d spent a lot of time thinking about that, in the two years that had passed since. She’d had a choice.

“I’ve got some funds stashed,” he’d said. “I can set you up with enough to make a fresh start someplace.”

“What do you want?” she’d asked.

Silence for a long moment. “I’m tired of doing it all on my own.”

The other choice she’d made back then, in retrospect, she’d clearly chosen wrong.

At times she could still feel the golf club in her hands, the weight of it, the slightly sticky grip, until it became slippery with blood.

She really should have killed him.

The payroll was screwed up, again.

Really, what was the point of hiring a service if they couldn’t get it right?

Jesus stood there, still in his work T-shirt and black pants, ball cap in hand. He seemed apologetic, like he was doing something wrong for asking. A middle-aged man, short, wiry, with a shaved head and a fuzzy tattoo on his neck. One of her line cooks.

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