I live upstairs. She didn’t even drop it under my door. She stamped it, addressed it, and sent it through the postal service, as if we were pen pals in the nineties.
I stare at it for a moment before I realize my mouth has curved upward. “Jesus Christ.”
The door swings open.
“You ever have a day where you consider walking out mid-rounds and pretending you forgot you worked here?” Hudson asks, heading for the coffee.
I grunt. “Every Thursday.”
He narrows his eyes, sizing me up. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Always good for the ego.”
“Didn’t sleep?”
“I tried. I got ambushed.”
He pauses, coffee pot mid-air. “Come again?”
I sigh, drag a hand down my face, and toss the envelope onto the counter. “My neighbor orchestrated a knock-and-run hit.”
“What?”
“With children, Hudson. She recruited children.”
That gets a laugh. “How old were these mercenaries?”
“Young enough to be fast, old enough to be lethal. They charged at me.”
Hudson bursts out laughing. “What the hell?”
“On the third knock, I finally caught the culprit. I had her. Then the kids came screaming around the corner with Silly String.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I think I still have blue residue in my ear.”
“You got taken down by a babysitting militia.” Hudson wipes his eyes. “That’s dark, man.”
“It was coordinated. She used a code word.”
Hudson takes a sip of coffee, still grinning. “She’s winning this war by a mile.”
I nod. “She’s definitely ahead on points.”
“Any retaliation planned?”
“Not yet.” I hold up the envelope. “This just arrived. A list of places I can run that aren’t above her head. Stamped and addressed. I think she’s tracking my schedule. She knew I’d be home.”
“She’s probably got a whiteboard,” Hudson says.
I rub my jaw, the exhaustion finally hitting. “She’s terrifying.”
“She’s hot.”
“Not relevant.”
“Extremely relevant,” Hudson counters. “Look, if a woman ever plans to publicly humiliate me with craft-store ammunition, I’d marry her out of respect. Get some rest. Before she comes back with more.”
Sixteen
