Suckers - J.A. Konrath

“I shouldn’t. When I drink I lose my inhibitions.”
“Keep the bottle.”
She took a sip, coughing after it went down.
“I already paid the assassin. I paid him a lot of money, and he won’t refund it. But I’m afraid
he’ll die before he kills my husband, so I need someone to kill the man who is after him.”
“Shouldn’t you tell the guy you hired that he’s got a hit on him?”
“I called him. He says not to worry. But I am worried, Mr. McGlade.”
“As I said before, I don’t kill people for money.”
“Even if you’re killing someone who kills people for money?”
“But I’d be killing someone who is killing someone who kills people for money. What
prevents that killer from hiring someone to kill me because he’s killing someone who is killing
someone that I... hand me that bottle.”
I took a swig.
“Please, Mr. McGlade. I’m a desperate woman. I’ll do anything.”
She walked around the desk and stood before me, shivering in her bra, her breath coming
out in short gasps through red, wet lips. Her hands rested on my shoulders, squeezing, and she
bent forward.
“My laundry,” I said.
“What?”
“Do my laundry.”
“Mr. McGlade, I’m offering you my body.”
“And it’s a tempting offer, Mrs. Garbonzo. But that will take, what, five minutes? I’ve got
about six loads of laundry back at my place, they take an hour for each cycle.”
“Isn’t there a dry cleaner in your neighborhood?”
“A hassle. I’d have to write my name on all the labels, on every sock, on the elastic band of
my whitey tighties, plus haul six bags of clothes down the street. You want me to help you? I get
five hundred a day, plus expenses. And you do my laundry.”
“And you’ll kill him?”
“No. I don’t kill people for money. Or for laundry. But I’ll protect your guy from getting
whacked.”
“Thank you, Mr. McGlade.”
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