"Discreet, I mean, Mister Bumfelt?" I'm expensive," I replied. "That buys a high degree of discretion."She looked to me- those green eyes, lips as red...as the pour on dress, auburn locks falling over a shoulder, taking my eyes to her low cut neckline."I want you to kill my husband," she said. "Can you do that for me, Mister Bumfelt?" Micky," I replied, pouring myself another shot of bourbon. "If we're talking murder, call me, Micky."She smiled, waved the private detective over, undid his belt,. The house was quiet. Two men had called upon her father to discuss a major transaction at the bank, where he was a director. The men were all sitting on the front porch, sipping tea and talking business. Thad, as he frequently did, sat with his father, listening.She didn't recognize one of the men, but the other was Mr. Randolph, a long-time friend of her father, Phillip Markham. Gwen was oblivious to the business meeting, however. Her eye was on the weather, and her mind was daydreaming about. Look at this, wood and metal construction, the flight groove is so straight that it almost looks machined...”He shouldered the weapon as best he could, Velez doing him the courtesy of placing a hand under the barrel so that he didn’t topple forward.“It’s heavy as all hell, but it’s actually pretty light for what it is, they shaved off all the material that they could get away with. Look at the one-piece stock, see how they’ve hollowed it out? It’s got a good grip, almost feels like a pistol. I began fantasizing about being with the pool man. He was always friendly when he came over every Friday to clean the pool. He would always stop at my window since my room faced the street. I had a big window where we would usually have conversations about the music I would be playing. I always noticed the way he looked at me. His sight would always gravitate to my ass. It seemed as if every time he could get a glance of it he would. At least that’s what I would tell myself. I pictured him.