NOTHING WORSE THAN A HUMID NIGHT IN FLORIDA FOR A HIT by Cole Beauchamp

In my line of work, you lean into your senses. Benny’s laugh was too high pitched. Forced. “You with me?” I said.

We’d been waiting fifteen minutes, welts on bare arms testimony to the mosquitos we couldn’t pinch in time. Our mark was still in the car. Shaking suspension and fogged-up windows told their own story.

“Course I’m with ya. Where else would I be?” In the moonlight, his eyes were marbles.

I cloaked my thoughts. Eased my gun out, real slow.

The car door opened.

It was so disappointing when Benny spun, gun in hand. I clocked him right between the eyes, then the mark.

Two bodies to dump in Alligator Alley tonight. Easy clean up.

Cole Beauchamp used to visit her sister a lot in Florida. That still doesn’t explain where this story came from and no, she does not own a gun.

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