Mortal Faults

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The knife was how he would do it.

Sure, strangling would be better, but she was a wiry little thing, and he was afraid she’d find a way to wriggle out of his grip. If she got loose long enough to scream, one of his neighbors in the apartment building might call the police. That was how it had gone down the last time, and why he’d spent the last twenty-two months in a maximum-security state prison. He wasn’t ready to go back.

Anyhow, the knife would be good enough. Poking her with the long sharp blade was almost as good as sex.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Leon blinked, glancing at the woman who sat beside him on the couch. Her face was pale in the dim lamplight. “Huh?”

“It means, what are you thinking about?”

“You, baby. How good you look. Like a movie star.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Like candy.” He slid closer to her. Country music played on the AM radio he’d bought at a pawn shop for ten bucks. Tammy Wynette, Stand By Your Man. “Want me to give you some sugar?”

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