The man sat inside his car, listening to it idle and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about what to do next. It was clear Sloane Monroe wasn’t going to relent, wasn’t going to stop searching until she’d found him. In a way, he admired the tenacity and drive she had to do what she thought was right. It showed integrity and strength of character.
For this reason, there was merit in sparing her life.
But she had become involved in something that wasn’t her business, and although she was a private investigator who sought people out for a living, it was something she was paid to do, it seemed to him that she did it for monetary gain and not because she had a personal investment or concern for those affected by what she was doing.
For this reason, she had to die.
And die she would.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. “What do you think, Petey? Should I spare her today and kill her tomorrow or shall I kill her today and be done with it?”
Petey rolled his eyes.
“Are you tired of me talking about her?” the man asked. “Is that it? Maybe if I wasn’t always talking to myself these days and you joined in the conversation for once, you could have a say in the topics up for discussion.”
Petey remained silent, as he always did, staring out the window like he was bored. “When we get home, you should consider changing your shirt this time. You’ve been wearing that tired, worn red shirt for months, even though I’ve repeatedly asked you to change. It’s rude, you know? I try to give you some advice, as your friend, and you don’t seem to care.”
The man watched Sloane’s car pull out of the driveway of the house Petey lived in. He wondered what she’d talked to his parents about. It seemed he was always wondering when it came to her. An idea crossed his mind. Perhaps if he wanted to know what she knew, he should ask.