Kiss and Kill

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I suppose that in any profession you grow with experience. I know that I did. When I think of my crude planning in the early years, and the chances I took, it makes my hair curl. Time and again I blundered past disaster by pure luck.

But you learn as you go along. Nobody’s luck holds forever, and in my business you’re allowed only one bad break. Long ago I decided the only way to avoid that eventual bad break was to eliminate chance from my planning entirely. I’ve never taken a chance since.

When Mavis was in a teasing mood, she used to call me “the careful man.”

I’m careful, all right. You have to be careful to get away with an average of three murders a year.

We sort of drifted into the business of murder. In the beginning neither Mavis nor I had any plans more serious than working bunco dodges. Maybe if we’d never met, neither of us would ever have turned to murder. But we did meet, and as a team we could hardly avoid moving into the big time. We complemented each other too beautifully to miss.

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