––––––––
San Francisco, California
“So, here’s my proposal. We start our own business. We do those things we know we can do well. What do you think?”
“Eddy, we don’t have any clients—customers. How—“ Joe McRory was beyond befuddlement.
“I have a client.”
“Really. Who?”
“That’s not important, now. What is important is that we’ll have a steady, predictable source of income.”
Alice Linda jumped off the sidelines. “Count me in.”
“How can you just jump right in? We don’t know the client. Do we know what we’ll be paid?”
Eddy O’Conner placed her hand on McRory’s shoulder. She offered a calming influence. At least that’s what she intended. Instead, he pulled away from her touch. Linda noticed and called him out.
“For Christ sakes, dude, we’re unemployed. We have no income. We have no jobs. Eddy is throwing us a lifeline.”
Somewhat, but not entirely, chastened, “Eddy, you just killed one person—wait make that two. And you shot two of them. Is this the type of work and client you’re talking about?”
Eddy paused briefly and pushed onward. “Joe, in fact, yes, that is some of the work we’d do. We also do other things as well.”
“Who’s the client?”
“Some people you already know.”
“The CIA?”
“Could be.”