BunnytheKiller
Bunny.
Blake
Your real name, Bunny.
BunnytheKiller
Can’t tell you that, I’d have to kill you.
Obviously. But the hunger to know more about Bunny isn’t just from the necessity of protecting my Norwood mafia interests. When was the last time I was engaged and curious about someone? I’m fascinated by BunnytheKiller.
I scroll back through the new group chat, and click on Bunny’s name. There are no further details available. Stupid app.
Blake
Meet me.
BunnytheKiller
I only meet my targets, and I don’t want to have to kill you, Boss. Makes it hard to get paid.
Logical, especially if Bunny is a woman. This is still a sexist industry, despite some of the deadliest assassins London has ever seen being women. But mostly, the London Mafia Syndicate wives are happy to let their men think they’re in control.
So who is this? I ponder on the best way to manage discovering more about my bunny.
My?
Huh. Well.
I run through possibilities—Threats, playing along, calling her bluff. I play a dozen scenarios before I realise I haven’t been so engaged with anything, work or otherwise, for years.
I opt for a test.
Blake
I have a special task for you.
BunnytheKiller
At your service.
Blake
I was thinking about taking out the London Maths Club. Think you could do it?
I sit back and wait. If BunnytheKiller has any sense, she’ll panic. Taking out the London Maths Club, also known as the London Mafia Syndicate, is a suicide attempt. They might be nauseatingly in love with their wives, to the point that the organisation is named after the time one of them pretended they were part of a maths society rather than a mafia boss. It’s tempting to think that because they’re soft on their women and have been known to do secret Santa, that they’re not dangerous.
That would be a mistake.
BunnytheKiller
Nah, I can’t do that.
Blake
Are you telling me no?
