I fixed the window with a piece of plywood I found in a shed.
Who owns the cottage? I asked. My husband's parents. I have to go get some supplies, she said, and left.
At least I got a straight answer, I thought, and found The Maltese Falcon on a bookshelf.
She threw a beer at me. Take a shower. You stink, she said, and picked up the book. Is this any good? She asked.
She pulled open the curtain. Mind if I join you? She asked, stripped, and stepped into the tiny tub. Cozy, she said, and washed my back. Where are we? I asked. Just outside the town I grew up in.
What are we doing here? I asked. Someone owes me some money, she said. How long will this take? I asked. Not long, I hope.
I have a present for you, she said, and tossed me a .357 Magnum. What's this for? I asked. My husband and his whore might show up any minute.
Thanks. I guess.
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