2 Death Makes the Cut Read Free Page A

It’s just that carrying a gun down in that area is illegal. They had to do something. Think about it—community service is really just a slap on the wrist. It’s a good thing.”
    “I don’t see what the good is of having a concealed-carry license if you can’t carry around bars. That’s exactly where you need to have a gun,” she grumbled.
    “Yeah, maybe everyone should just walk around with holsters and six shooters on their hips.”
    I was being sarcastic, but she considered it. “Not a bad idea. An armed society is a polite society.”
    “Robert Heinlein,” I responded, impressed she knew the quote.
    She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, you’ll never guess what I have to do.”
    From her tone, it was pretty nasty. “Pick up trash on the highway? Clean urinals at the bus station?”
    “Worse. I have to teach a six-week seminar about girls in technology. You know, encourage high school girls to go into the sciences.”
    I stared at her blankly. “You get arrested for carrying a concealed weapon, and the punishment is teaching children?”
    My whole life, my whole career, reduced down to a community-service penalty.
    Kyla was oblivious. “Yeah, does that suck or what? But here’s the good part. I got them to let me do it here.”
    I choked a little. “Here?”
    “Yup. Twice a week for six weeks. And you have to help me. I don’t know what to say to the little monsters.”
    Which probably meant that she expected me to do it for her. I threw up my hands. “I have a full schedule. You know, my own classes.”
    “Yeah, yeah. It’ll be right after school, so your classes won’t interfere. We can go get dinner and drinks after,” she said by way of bribery. “It’ll be fun.”
    I sighed. “I’ll help with the first one, but then you’re on your own.”
    She decided not to argue, but I could see she was already thinking of ways she could get me to do the whole thing. She’s devious that way.
    The afternoon sun threw golden rectangles of light across the desks and floor, lighting up tiny motes that twinkled in the glow like fireflies. Outside, I could hear the roar of a mower accompanied by a dull thumping of rap music from the groundskeeper’s radio. I consoled myself with the thought that the owner could look forward to an adulthood of early deafness and pounding headaches.
    “So how’s Alan doing?” Kyla asked, changing the subject. Conversations with her often bounced around with very little in the way of segues.
    I winced a little as though at a sore tooth, then shrugged. “Okay, I suppose.”
    She looked at me. “That doesn’t sound good.”
    Alan was my … well, boyfriend, I guess. I felt a little old to have a boyfriend, but there didn’t seem to be a better term in the English language. What do you call someone whom you’ve been dating for a few months, but who lives in a different city and who never seems to be around?
    I’d met him when Kyla and I had taken a tour of Egypt, a tour that had gone disastrously wrong and ended up with both Alan and me almost getting killed. That kind of experience usually draws people together, I suppose, but I had to admit I wasn’t completely happy with the way things were going right now. For one thing, Alan had not yet moved to Austin, although he kept saying he was going to as soon as he could make the arrangements to move his travel company from Dallas. For another thing, because he was the owner of WorldPal Tours, he seemed to be on the road a lot. He was extraordinarily attractive, which made up for a lot, but on the other hand, I was still spending most of my evenings alone, with only a glass of wine and my fat elderly poodle for company.
    I finally admitted, “I haven’t seen him in three weeks, but we’re going to Port Aransas for Labor Day.”
    “That sounds fun,” she said with patently fake enthusiasm. “Wait, no it doesn’t. Why Port A? You can do that any time. Why doesn’t he take you somewhere awesome? He owns a tour