“I jammed it in so hard, it got stuck in the bone,” Alan said, admiring the gleam of crimson blood on the otherwise unassuming kitchen knife. “Do you know how hard it is to pull a knife out of bone?”
“Not yet,” Sasha growled. “But I will if you don’t shut the fuck up and help me clean up your mess of a dead body!”
Alan sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and dropped the knife, which fell to the wood floor with a clatter. “I had to do it, Sasha.”
“Of course, Alan.” Sasha’s sarcasm wasn’t lost in her strained voice as she tugged at the dead man’s legs. “What did this one do? Look at you funny?”
“Well,” Alan paused as he lifted the dead man’s arms and helped Sasha move the limp body toward the back door of their bar, which closed less than hour ago. “Kind of. I mean, he looked like he recognized us. What if he called the cops?”
Sasha dropped her end of the body and sighed loudly. “Alan, you forget who I am. I have ways of solving such problems without having to draw blood. Why can you not understand this?”
“Oh sure,” Alan dropped his end of the body, letting the dead man’s head hit the floor with a careless thunk. It was okay. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon. “You cast some spell to make him forget. Where’s the fun in that? I like to solve my compromising situations the old fashioned way.” Alan flexed his fingers to reiterate his point.
“Alan,” Sasha pushed her fiery red hair from her pale, freckled face, “The only thing those fingers are good for is playing with your own dingy. Now shut up and grab the lime.”
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