
All we had to do was stick together.

After about the second night without her, I started to have doubts
about the whole thing. It was one thing to talk and joke about
murdering your lover's oppressive husband, it was another thing to
actually go through with it. I really didn't think I would be able
to...well, /perform/, when it all came down to it.

When I started to think like that, I just returned to the plan. It
was detailed, meticulous. It involved two of us. That made it seem
less lonely. I felt sorry for all the killers in history who had to
go through it all themselves.

At least, I felt sorry for them until I realised that having a
partner complicated the whole business quite a bit.

Even back then, I should have sensed the danger of my situation.  I
was doing most of the heavy lifting, but my reward depended
entirely on her. She would be the benefactor of the money, I would
be the benefactor of her. I don't know why I assumed it would just
work out nicely like that.

She called me after a few days. She was breathless, a little manic.
The guy did a great job designing her, I had to give him that. She
had the whole gamut of human emotions and psychology programmed
into that tiny silicon chip of hers.

She said there was a hitch in the plan. Just a hitch. Things would
still be going ahead. She just needed a little something extra from
me.

"Does that mean I'll get to see you soon, Honeysuckle?"

"Sure, but maybe not in the way you think."

It turned out the old man had actually removed the triple indemnity
clause from his will a year ago. Saved himself a few pennies on the
premium.

"Dang," was all I could say at first. I felt relieved. I tried not
to show it. "Guess it's back to the drawing board for us." There
was no point going through with the whole thing now. I sipped my
rye and looked up at the giant mass of Jupiter. I felt like getting
back to the other side of that mass pretty quick. Maybe I could
still take her with me. 

"Drawing boards already all drawn up. You're coming here at 9 a.m.
sharp tomorrow morning," she told me. I should have known I wasn't
getting out that easy.

"A social call? The old man will be out I presume."

"A business call. You're the salesman, after all. You're gonna have
to do what you do best and sell him back that policy." 


