BF:I trust there are no recyclable items inside?
Male:Of course!
BF:So no wine bottles in there? There weren’t any last week either and that’s unusual for your house.
Male:I’ve really cut back on drinking.
BF:Your wife certainly hasn’t. When I informed her yesterday that your grass had grown past regulation height, she was sloshing back a large glass of red when she asked me to “Go measure my dick, not her lawn.”
Male:(Laughter.) She has a great sense of humor.
BF:I’m keeping my eye on you both.
Previous investigation of their bin confirmed household waste (including two empty boxes of Maltesers, one empty Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food carton and four wine bottles).
Note—BF spotted observing their house on three different occasions and writing notes in black notepad. Potential problem.
Chapter Four
Haze
Life is busy.
We’re trying to have it all.
Our baby son, Reggie, is a smiley beautiful bundle of fun who thinks sleep is for losers. Our four-year-old daughter, Bibi, loves penguins, our dog, Sausage, and testing our patience.
If you’d asked me last year how we made it work, I’d have told you that, like any successful partnership, my husband and I divided the labor: we took it in turns and did whatever we could to make it work.
He took out the bins, I cleaned. He cooked, I washed up. He did playground, I did homework.
We were a couple that shared everything. From home, to kids, to work—we were a team.
We did bathtime together.
And we killed together.
Yes, killed.
Slice, dice, cut, stab, bash, slit, hit, bury, burn. Whatever it took to get the job done.
Our marriage wasn’t like other people’s marriages.
And our little work sideline wasn’t either.
We made the world a better place by ending the lives of bad men.
We were not your garden-variety, run-of-the-mill serial killers.We were killers with consciences and a strict moral code. A self-appointed vigilante power couple.
We were good people enacting a service no one else was willing or able to provide. If we were ever caught, we shouldn’t be prosecuted; we should be celebrated. We were doing everything right, and nothing wrong. Not really.
Some might consider it a crime how much we enjoyed the act itself. But that could just be down to the fact that vengeance gave us a wholesome thrill, rather than the actual watching-someone-bleed-out part. Give us the benefit of the doubt.
A year ago, I would’ve said that we were doing great.
Recently, it hadn’t being going so well.
It had been going pretty fucking terribly, actually.
