“Mr. Robillard wants to talk.” She was about ten feet away in the park, standing in the shadow of a big elm. Somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five, a dangerous age, a reckless age. She was slimly built with narrow hips and shoulders, a darkly tanned complexion, large green eyes, and straight black hair worn down to below her chin. “Shit, lady. Don’t do that. You scared me.” “Like I said, Robillard wants to talk.” Without thinking I looked both ways and stepped into the park and the concealing shadows. She was wearing gloves, a leather Stetson, olive-green overalls fastened with black buttons, dark blue, high-topped runners, and a loosely fitting leather jacket. I recognized them as working clothes and my heart started to beat faster. “Followed you this morning and saw you schlepping coffee and Snickers bars to the great unwashed.” Was this a hit? Was she going to kill me here? The overalls were a couple of sizes too big so she could have different clothes on underneath, and the jacket had room for the tools of the trade.
What do You think about An Ordinary Decent Criminal?
