-- The Killing Floor Blues 10.Her name was Jenna Rearden, and she kept her hands clasped tight before her, like a penitent nun, to keep them from shaking. It wasn’t me she was afraid of. Not entirely me, anyway. This wasn’t long after I’d broken company with Nicky Agnelli. A heist went bad, shook my confidence, threw me off my game. Instead of getting back on Nicky’s payroll, I shifted gears and tried something new. I hung out my metaphorical shingle, offering vengeance for hire. Dirty deeds done at premium prices. It was mostly curse work, though I passed myself off to my clients as a mundane “fixer” who could arrange convenient accidents for anyone who had done them wrong. Cheating spouse? Sexually harassing boss? Cross my palm with silver, and I could make your problems go away. Then came Jenna. Young, mousy, freshly divorced with a six-year-old daughter. A daughter who had gone from vibrant and outgoing to sullen and stormy, a pattern that grew worse with every weekend visit to her father’s house.
