A Short Story by Elaine Carlson

"Sissy, I did the job," Peter said. "Call me back as soon as you can."

I pick up a stack of pictures and  papers. There is no need to rush to call Peter.

Brian and I had some good times together. Here we are at the Rose Parade. For a long time I have gotten tired of looking at the picture of me at my high school graduation. I don't take it out of the frame but put the parade picture on top of it. It is a better picture to have on the television set. .   

The papers aren't as cheerful --- a copy of our divorce decree and a bill from our attorney. At the bottom is the medical report for the time I went to the hospital after he pushed me out of the car. Why did he feel he had to do that? 

After I am finished cleaning up the living room I decide to call Peter. He picks right up. 

"You called."

"Has anyone contacted you and told you Brian died?" 

"No," I say. "Nobody has."

"He is dead," he said. "Just as you wanted." 

He tells me he will come by tonight at seven.            

I know Peter from high school. We were in the same speech class. And a few times we were debate partners. We never went together but he was always nice to me. Sort of like he thought he might run for Class Representative or Student Body President and he wanted to be sure he had my vote.

I hadn't seen him since high school when he called me three months ago. He told me one of our teachers had died. And that he moved to my city and didn't live too far from me. He stayed here for about four hours. I fixed us lunch and we did a lot of talking. I wondered why he wanted to see me.

I told him about the problems I was having with Brian. Mainly that he didn't give me everything in the divorce decree.. And he didn't reimburse me for the time I took his dog to the vet. 

He stayed quiet while I was speaking. Then all of the sudden he blurted out, "You gotta kill him." 

"What?"

""How much more of this disrespect do you think you should have to take?" he asked. "You need to kill him." 

"I could never do that."

"You have heard of a Designated Driver," he said. "I can be your Designated Killer."

He laughed. He got a kick out of calling himself a Designated Killer.

"How much would you charge?" I asked. "I can't pay you much. After all I am not wealthy."

"Come on. Maybe you aren't wealthy but you do all right," he said. "Anyway I'll give you a good deal." 

I was tired of the subject so I said, "Then do it."    

I was surprised he called me this morning. I go to the kitchen and take out a phone from my catch all drawer. I dial a number.

"Is this you, Kathy?" 

I immediately hang up.

Brian thought he got a call from the legal office. Kathy is the secretary to the top attorney. She gave me the phone. She said it would make it easier for me to get the information I needed for the divorce. And she was right. She also told me to keep it quiet that I have the phone and to tell no how I got it.   

So all along Peter wanted me to get in trouble for hiring him to kill Brian. What an asshole. And if at seven he comes in with some gruesome photos documenting the supposed  killing, I will know Brian is in on the plan.