Free Kill Code by Joseph Collins Page B

that, he felt akin to Sherlock Holmes, who said, “Once you
eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how
improbable, must be the truth.”
    It had been like that. Not that Jackie would
appreciate his efforts. Though she was a great deal better at
acknowledging his skills than Nathan had ever been. That bastard's
death hadn't been painful enough for him.
    They had been roommates in college. He was an
accounting geek and Nathan had been a computer geek. It would have
been perfect except that Nathan had cut a wide swath through the
female population of the small university, including a couple of
his professors. He always had the gift of gab—being able to talk to
almost anyone at any level, including women out of their
panties.
    He remembered numerous times when he had to sit in
the hallway for hours, sometimes, waiting for Nathan to finish up
'entertaining' some coed or another. At least it was reasonably
quiet; no one bothered him to help them with their homework—which
is what would have happened if he had gone to the dormitory
lounge.
    They had gone their separate ways, thank God, after
college. Nathan had gone off to start a computer software company
and he had joined an accounting firm. It was decent work, but mind
numbing—hundreds of hours for weeks on end. As the junior, he was
expected to produce at inhuman levels. The money had also been
pathetic—less than minimum wage at the number of hours expected.
The only hope for salvation would be if one of the more senior
partners croaked, and since they had all the time off they needed
to work out in the gym, that wasn't very likely.
    He was also expected to bring in new clients. Yes,
the partners got all the money generated, but they promised that he
would eventually have a chance to buy into the partnership—in say,
ten or twenty years.
    One night, he was trying to drown his sorrows at a
neighborhood hangout. All he could afford, given his slave wage,
student loans and the need to eat and put gas in his falling apart
jalopy, was to dink cheap beer in this dive. He was approached by a
stunning blonde, dressed in a low cut but classy dress. As Nathan
would have commented, “She was stacked, racked and ready to
go.”
    She bought the next round of drinks and sat down to
talk. Dorothy was her name and the smooth silkiness of her voice
caused him to melt inside. He would have given everything to be
able to pull a Nathan on her, but she didn't seem to be that sort
of person.
    The whole situation was refreshing. They got to
talking and drinking, mostly he did the talking and drinking, while
she nursed a glass of white wine.
    As he finished talking about his mind-numbing job,
she asked him if he wouldn't mind doing some work on the side for
her boss. She added off the books and paid in cash. Not caring
about the implications, at that point he would have sawed off his
right arm with a rusty knife and eaten it in front of her if that's
what it took, he agreed. She left with his phone number and other
contact information. He about slid to the floor when she kissed him
gently on the lips before making her exit.
    Dorothy's boss turned out to be a minor mob boss who
needed help in moving his assets around in ways that wouldn't show
up on the tax rolls. The money was great—paid in cash as promised.
He relished the challenge of outsmarting the IRS. He never did see
Dorothy again, much to his disappointment.
    Being a mob accountant worked quite well for a
couple of years. Then the whole thing crashed in on him with the
FBI showing up at the accounting firm's office asking some hard and
difficult questions. He didn't receive any jail time because he
cooperated, and had covered his own ass quite well, but it still
was very close. The partners in the company were furious. He was
allowed to quietly resign.
    The good times over, he had to go, hat in hand, to
beg his former roommate for a job. Nathan had agreed, but never,
until his dying day, let him forget it.
    Unlocking