Smith's Monthly #31 by Smith Dean Wesley

Author:Smith, Dean Wesley [Smith, Dean Wesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: WMG Publishing
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

MARY JO NEVER expected anything to lead back to her and her home, but it made no sense to take any chance when just a little bit of work would solve any problem.

After she had gotten back, she had removed all the black bags from the back of the Jeep and put them where they belonged, then had gone into the guest room, put her blouse, bra, underwear, jeans, shoes and socks in a black trash bag along with all the cloths she had used for the cleaning and set the bag near the back door.

Then she had gone to her own bedroom upstairs in the four-bedroom, two-bath suburban home, taken a shower, making sure she was clean.

Extra sure. Especially her short brown hair.

She had liked this house in the year since she and Bob had gotten married. It kind of fit a part of her that she didn’t often get to enjoy. And she knew how to play the perfect housewife role to a science.

But behind the housewife, she was a member of an ancient order of assassins. She had lived for thousands of years, as everyone in her order tended to do. And she had never grown tired of her job.

Not once. In fact, the job had gotten more and more challenging as technology improved.

She liked that and the money it supplied her to live a lavish lifestyle. She actually had no idea how rich she was, considering all of her many bank accounts around the world under all the different names. She actually didn’t need to work, she just loved her job.

There was always a challenge. And she got to meet and sometimes marry nice people as well before killing them.

After her shower, she had dressed in a similar white blouse that she had had on earlier, same style of jeans, underwear, everything, including a second pair of identical sneakers.

With a pair of white gloves on, she took the black bag and put it into the back of her Jeep along with a couple bags of normal week’s garbage. She had set this routine up a year ago. This was all normal for her, including the white gloves.

She had then driven the ten minutes to the landfill just outside of town, in the opposite direction from the rock quarry.

There she had made sure every bag was tossed over the edge of the dumping area into an area full of other black bags that a bulldozer was moving around and covering in layers of dirt.

She had paid the attendant in cash and he hadn’t even noticed her other than to nod hi as he did every week. His attention was focused on the two pickup trucks behind her full of junk.

Now she was back at her house looking at the bottle of vodka and orange juice and wondering if she dared have just one more drink.

She loved her drinks, but was very careful in the thick of a job to not drink too much.

As she stood there,

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