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A Worse Idea 88

That night, Anne logged back onto The Killer’s Gallery app.

The main page was the true killer’s gallery: three columns of pictures, each picture showing a different killer: monsters, mutants, fuck-ups, freaks, hitmen, hatchet-swingers, antagonistic trigger-happy butchers who resisted the human urge to create and instead gave into an opposing urge — that of destruction.

Anne scrolled past a man with the head of a chicken, a muscular brute who wielded a mallet and killed under the surprisingly blunt name, “The Cock.”

She scrolled past a sweaty-looking fellow with his fingers in a bowling ball and a grin that reminded her of Steve Buscemi from The Big Lebowski.

Anne scrolled past a picture of an egg. She wondered if there was any relation to The Cock, or how an egg would even commit murder…

Anne kept scrolling.

And scrolling.

And scrolling.

Bleary-eyed and struggling to comprehend the blur of images, Anne wanted to find the perfect killer, the one she could rely upon to kill Janet. She lay on her bed, her finger sliding across her phone repeatedly.

Eventually, she decided to go with the name she already recognized.

She clicked on Griselda’s picture.

It asked Anne if she had any special requests. She jotted down something that amused her, then hit the “Next” button.

A dollar-figure popped up, as well as an estimate as to how long it would take for the murder to go down — two days, most of that spent on travel.

Griselda had a 4.9 rating; Anne wondered if the people who ordered hits often left bad reviews. Wasn’t complaining about assassins a bad idea?

She chuckled at the thought, as she confirmed Janet’s murder.

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