Not On The Menu

There's something new in the freezer tonight.

"Hurry up, Petey! We're pushin' the clock, and we ain't exactly gettin' overtime for this, you know."

"Give me five more minutes. Two more glasses—

"Jesus, it ain't fine crystal! Just wipe it be done!"

Pete finished wiping the last glass and joined Carlo in the dining room. "See? Now we can leave." As they walked toward the van outside, Pete stopped suddenly, one finger in the air. "Whoops! Forgot one thing."

Carlo looked at him with frustration.

Pete jingled the keys sheepishly. "Almost forgot to lock up."

Carlo looked at him, dumbfounded. When they got in the white panel van, Carlo was still staring at his partner.

"What, man? Have I got a booger or something?"

"Pete," Carlo said slowly. "If you locked the door, it ain't gonna look like a robbery; they're gonna know it was an inside job. It doesn't lock the same way as when you lock it from the inside. And Angelo's dead in the freezer in there! They're—"

"Didn't I tell ya the shot would be muffled? I don't even care, though, Carlo. I couldn't be happier he's dead. The way that bastard would scream at me every night..." Pete snarled.

Carlo stared ahead, glum. He had gone to school with Petey, nursed him through a marriage and a divorce. He loved Pete like a brother.

But Petey had gone a step too far tonight—several steps too far. Washing blood off the glasses and locking up wasn't going to hide anything, and Carlo knew it. He knew something else, too: Petey had just become a loose end, and loose ends needed to be tied nice and neat.

"Let's take the back way home, then, Petey. Just for my sanity." Carlo sighed, easing the little .38 out of his pocket.

Sorry, Petey, he thought.

(Word Count: 300)