Free Assassin by Tara Moss

stored toys and rarely used gym equipment. And there was the driveway, bumper to bumper with his-and-hers family cars, and the small yard adorned with a basketball hoop, two bicycles, two tricycles, a leaf-filled inflatable kids’ pool — currently out of use — and several pieces of weather-worn sporting equipment. On any given day the cars and bicycles and footsteps of varying size came and went at regular intervals, and the lights inside burned through half the night.
    Tonight the family was joined around the large, circular kitchen table by their guest, Agent Andy Flynn, finishing a late dinner of steak, potatoes and peas sautéed in lashings of pepper, salt and garlic. The eldest of the four children, Dominique, was the first to leave the table after clearing his plate, followed closely by the others old enough to walk, and Jimmy, who tactlessly explained that he had to piss.
    Andy found himself at the table alone with Jimmy’s wife, Angie Cassimatis, and the youngest boy, Edmond, who watched the profiler with eyes the colour of dark chocolate, drool wetting his gap-toothed mouth.
    ‘More water?’ Angie offered. She was a tough matriarch in the traditional Greek mould. She ran the household with a firm hand, got the kids to church on time and could often be found — dark cascades of curls piled on her head — cooking and designating chores like a sergeant. Somehow, with four children, she’d also found time to complete her training as a nurse.
    Andy shook his head. ‘Thanks, Angie. That was lovely.’ He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in a while. He’d forgotten that full, wholesome feeling.
    Angie got up and began to load dirty plates into the dishwasher with one hand while supporting the smallest Cassimatis over her shoulder. Edmond continued mutely to watch Andy from his elevated outlook, mouth open. He was sleepy.
    ‘Let me do that,’ Andy protested and pushed his chair out.
    ‘Sit!’ she demanded, pointing a finger. ‘You are a guest here. I won’t have you clearing the dishes.’
    This was a regular pattern whenever Andy visited, which hadn’t been terribly often since he’d moved interstate. He knew Angie didn’t take kindly to guests trying to help out. In time the toddler began to fuss and Angie abandoned the dishes and excused herself from the kitchen to make her way to the closest couch. ‘Sure I can’t get you anything more? Ice cream, maybe?’ she asked across the room, and in seconds she had undone her top and pulled Edmond to her breast.
    ‘No, I’m fine. Thanks, Angie.’
    A soft smile spread across her face and a kind of peace seemed to settle on the house as the boy fed. Though Angie seemed unbothered by the company, Andy became self-conscious looking in her direction. He began to concentrate on the bottom of his water glass, wondering if he would ever become a father. The responsibility of parenting scared him more than a little. Maybe that was why he kept fucking things up. Despite having been married once, he’d resisted ‘settling down’.
    A toilet flushed and Jimmy returned to stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning his bulk against the frame. He was built like a teddy bear, all stomach and grin. He’d put on a few kilos since Andy had seen him last. If Andy’s Achilles heel was his drink, Jimmy’s was anything deep-fried, or made with chocolate. Or both. Doctors had warned him to cut back for the sake of his health, but he’d obviously been ignoring that advice lately. ‘Mate, wanna go somewhere for a beer?’ Jimmy asked, rubbing his hands together.
    ‘I would, but I’ve got an early morning,’ Andy replied. He pushed his chair out again and started to stand. ‘I’ll help finish the washing up —’
    ‘No, no,’ Angie protested from the living room, though he’d hoped she wouldn’t hear him. ‘Don’t touch a thing. You’re a guest here,’ she said, though when Edmond complained she turned back to murmur sweet nothings and stroke his fine hair.
    ‘A