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."