The Divorcee Murder Club

Quince ~ 15

                The atrium is silent as Augusta snaps her fingers, and someone pushes through a hidden door to the right. As it swings shut, I catch a glimpse of the kitchen on the other side. I’m assuming it’s the entry and exit for the servants because this person carries a tray with waters on it. And not just the average agua on ice. These have cucumber slices and fizzy bubbles with shiny rose-gold straws.

“Have a cucumber cooler.” Augusta motions to the tray, and her minion passes out the refreshments. 

I take the first sip, and holy shit, it’s delicious as fuck. Or maybe it’s because standing in a big ass mansion with money dripping from the ceiling makes everything taste like a dream? I bet these women sleep on feather mattresses hand-plucked by golden egg-laying geese from the Willy Wonka factory. A snort escapes my mouth as I picture Veruca Salt singing how she doesn’t care and wants it now. That little girl was such a turd! Angie elbows me, and Reina glares from the corner of her eye.

Oops.

“This is Angie Mendoza and Miguel Gomez.” Reina gestures to us. “They’re acquaintances of Franky.”

“As in, Francesca Fiona Le Flore Fitz?” Jocelyn’s hand pauses before touching her lips with the martini. 

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Why the heck does she go by so many names?”

“It’s harder for people to remember long names, and in her line of work, she needs to be forgettable.”

“Ah, yes. Paper trails are such dangerous things...” Jocelyn points a finger gun at us and winks.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Augusta takes another drag from her long cigarette, and we all wait as she blows the smoke towards the glass ceiling. It’s clear who’s running the show. We are on their time. “Why are you here?”

“For permission,” Reina replies.

“Obviously.” Jocelyn sips her martini. “We have guests arriving at 1 pm for lunch.”

“Right.” Reina clenches her teeth and adjusts her leather corset with a tug because although Jocelyn didn’t directly say it, she demanded we not waste their precious time. “They want to use my weapons—”

“For what purpose?” Augusta cuts her short.

“Perhaps I should let them explain.” Reina pivots towards us and nods.

“We want to kill our asshole exes,” Angie says, but Augusta nor Jocelyn bat an eyelash at the information. “With good reason. However, we’ve run into a problem. One of the exes is a man named Richie Reddy.”

“Now that’s interesting.” Augusta flicks ash from her cigarette and glances back at Jocelyn before returning her attention to us. “Richie is the third-largest heroin trader in the entire Bay Area.”

“Yes, we know. Which is why we’re here.”

“Killing him would create ripples.” 

“Which is why we need your blessing.”

“And if we don’t give it?” Augusta asks, and I wish I could tell her that I've already taken matters into my own hands, but I can't.

“Then we back off, and the wife-beating bastard gets to live,” Angie replies.

“Mindy Arora?” Jocelyn asks.

“You know her?” I pipe up, my heart suddenly banging my ribcage.

“We know of her. We like keeping tabs on who is who, and the man enjoys decorating his ex-wife’s face with bruises. That’s not something you forget. Plus, after Richie thought he could approach me at Penthouse, he’s walking on thin ice.”