He shifted his eyes to the left and then to the right, and then he made eye contact. He could not escape. Arlene looked directly at him.
“Nice hair,” he said.
“Nice hair? Nice hair? Is that all you have to say to me after telling me you’d call me one morning four years ago?”
“I like your outfit.”
Arlene reached into her jeans jacket and pulled out a pistol. Carlos could not identify the brand of the weapon by looking straight down its barrel.
“You’ve carried that gun with you for four years?” Carlos’ eyebrows reached for his hairline.
“Don’t flatter yourself, buster.”
She raised her aim to the side of his right ear and pulled the trigger.
Carlos fell to the floor. He checked for bullet wounds and then looked at the woman next to him. It was Mary Lou, spread out dead on the floor, a butcher knife in her hand. He remembered he hadn’t called Mary Lou after their hot date two weeks ago.
“Thanks, Arlene,” Carlos said.
Arlene blew the smoke from the end of her gun.
“Call me,” she said.
From “Drive-By Romances, Vol. 1.” (“Three’s a Crowd”)