Just a Job

      “By the ankles?”
      “Yep,” replied Vince. He flicked his cigarette off the deck into the sand below.
      “Off the side of the boat?” She cringed as she pictured him falling into the shark infested waters. Chum for the would-be fishermen. “He didn’t deserve it, ya know.”
      “Didn’t he? He read the contract. He knew the rules.”
      “Yeah, but he was nice.”
      “How do you know? You never talked to him. Right?” Vince stood up and walked over to where she was sitting.
      “It’s just—”
      “Just what?”
      “He…he had kind eyes. I could just see that he was nice. That’s all.” She finished her margarita, the third one in less than an hour. She stared out at the ocean. The water was almost the right shade of blue. It needed just a bit more green.
      “You liked his eyes?” he said, looming over her chaise.
      “And no one’s ever come to you like that before. Usually it’s just a job. Cold. Calculated. He was crying, Vince. He was heartbroken.”
      “He was weak, that’s what he was.”
      “No, look, if you really knew him—”
      “Like you knew him, darling?”