Ed crashes into his chair – waves of
body fat jiggling from the jowls of his neck and arms down to his belly, thighs
and calves – and demands coffee; Janet thumps a mug of the scolding liquid next
to his plate.
Ed opens the Herald with great
fanfare, Janet discretely opens the cabinet drawer behind her.
Ed slurps loudly into his coffee mug
as if making rapacious love; Janet moans murmurs of affection to the Smith and
Wesson in the drawer.
Ed spits out a cacophony of phrases
about the Dodgers peppered by a slew of words with hard consonants; Janet
silently picks up the gun.
Ed pronounces his three-step plan
for peace in the Middle East and the
eradication of terrorism (if only the idiots in government would listen); Janet
takes out the cartridge and the silencer.
Ed chews his English muffin audibly;
Janet quietly loads the gun and screws on the silencer.
Pointing at his watch, Ed shouts,
“7:30, some of us have to get to work, you know,” and then guffaws at his
little joke; Janet points the gun at the middle of the newspaper and pulls the
trigger.
As Ed grunts and falls downward, his
head smacks the table and blood oozes from underneath the newspaper toward the
table edge, thick and red; Janet’s lips climb slowly upwards for the first time
that morning to expose her teeth, shiny and white.
Ed arises with a flourish, pulling
his thin black comb from his back pocket, and combs the remaining strands of
his pale blond hair over his pink head; Janet follows him as he walks to the
door and presses her thin lips to his flabby cheeks.
Ed guns the Land Rover and takes off
to work; Janet walks back to the table and mimes unscrewing the silencer and
placing the imaginary gun carefully in the drawer – she will need it again the
next morning.
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