It was a dark night when I met the love of my life. Not rainy, it was actually pretty clear-skied, but still cold and wet. Being out in the bay was like that.

  Cold, wet, and very, very quiet. Not exactly silent in a peaceful way, but in the deep, awkward way of two people recognizing that they were both in a place they shouldn’t be, doing things they shouldn’t be doing according to common senses of decency.

  “...”

  “...”

  “...Sup?” I greeted, raising my hand to the lady on the boat next to mine, keeping my other hand on the stiff’s chest.

  “Hello,” she greeted in return, nodding back to me. We made a strange pair, me being a decently fit man with dark brown hair and a tanned complexion in a blue track suit and running shoes, currently hoisting a human corpse over the side of the rowboat I was on, while she looked like a character from a slasher movie, right down to the coveralls and hockey mask. She wasn’t bald though, she had black hair she’d tied back. Still very serial killer chic.

  “...”

  “...”

  “...Nice night?” It sounded like a question. I didn’t mean it like one, but that’s just how it came out.

  “Yeah. Uh...yeah.” She cleared her throat. With the hand that wasn’t holding the bag of what were obviously body parts. “How’s...yours?”

  I shrugged, trying to keep a decent hold on the stiff I was right in the middle of hoisting overboard. It was a little tricky, what with the lead weights on the guy’s ankles. “Pain in the ass. Colleague of mine had a problem and I owe him. Owed him.”

  “Colleague. Not a friend?”

  “You do favors for friends, you do jobs for colleagues. Tasks. Whatever, you get my point.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do. So. Mob business?”

  “Y’know, you probably shouldn’t ask if a mobster is doing mob business.”

  “But you just admitted you’re a mobster.”

  I did. Welp. “Ignore that. You saw none of this.”

  “Right. Same to you.”

  “...I do think I should ask though. Just cause, uh...so this a one-time thing?”

  “No, no, it’s, uh, also mob business. Or ‘this thing of ours’ or whatever I’m supposed to call it,” the lady admitted, somehow looking embarrassed. It was a strange look for someone dressed like a slasher and carrying a plastic bag filled with bloody meat. I wouldn’t’ve even assumed it was human if I didn’t see the fingers. And the eyes. The face also gave it away, just a bit. “Just, you know. Not your thing. A different thing.”

  “Yeah, I think I’d know if we had a Voorhees cosplayer on the crew. Or any of the Oldtown crews, really. It stands out.”

  “Yes, I know. I kind of…well, I mean, it’s meant to stand out, you know? It’s, ah, not really disposal? More like sending a message.”

  I nodded to that, thinking I might be getting the picture even with plenty of bits missing. “The old ‘put a severed head in the window’ deal?”

  “Oh, you’re familiar with–Ah, shouldn’t say that…”

  “Huh. So that was your work? That’d make you–“

  “So! So, uh, you're a Marotti guy then?”

  “Should I ask how you guessed?”

  “I mean, it’s not like there’s any other outfit that’s big in Oldtown. Maybe street gangs, but those don’t count.”

  “For sure, for sure. You’re from Uptown then? Meaning you’re either a Proia or an Apicella.”

  “Ah, no, actually, um…ah, screw it. I’m a Murcil girl. Well, not, like…full, exactly, it’s an arrangement.”

  “Still puts you in with one of the big five. You being from Midtown does explain more of why you’re in this part of the bay though. Do you do this often?”

  “Uh, in a sense? Not, like…I haven’t disposed of a corpse…in this specific body of water before.”

  “Right. Yeah, I get that. You shouldn’t be using plastic.”

  “Huh?

  I tried a smile to cover the stupid sentence that slipped out of my mouth. “It’s a hazard to fish. Worst of the water pollution comes from things like plastic netting, and plastic bags just...birds and fish wind up choking on them or getting stuck, stuff like that.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t going to drop the bag in, I was dumping the pieces. This just makes them easier to carry.”

  “You’re just dumping corpse parts in the bay?”

  “Yes, I–Oh, oh I see the thing, um, right, I was intending these to be discovered, it’s a thing. Also that guy has most of his stuff on, right?”

  I glanced down at the stiff, who was still wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Casual clothes for a random schmuck. “Yeah, it’s...I took his phone. And his wallet. And I know there’s no plastic on him, I checked that.”

  “Yes, but there’s still a lot of identifiers on him. I mean, you didn’t even take his teeth.”

  “...Right, dental records. Well, look, it’s more of a need to get rid of a body than fully dispose of it. Just...weigh it down, let it sink, and if someone finds it it’ll be long after any evidence could be found.”

  “Oh, I guess I can see that...Is that why you only put weights on his ankles?”

  “Yup–Wait, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Oh, um, nothing? Just...okay so, when the body starts to decompose, all of the...tendons, skin, all that kind of thing can get really loose, and if there’s weight on one part and the current’s pushing it, just...things tend to tear, and then there’s a corpse bobbing along without its ankles.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Damn. You sound practiced at this.”

  “Oh, uh, maybe? It’s just…you need to look these things up, right?”

  “Sure, sure. Can I ask about you here?”

  “Uh…sorry, you mean why do I have a corpse? Because I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

  “Nah, about you. I’m curious.”

  “I’ve heard curiosity tends to kill cats.” Her tone was joking, so I didn’t reach for anything. “It’s also kind of a weird place to ask for my life story, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged, then had to adjust my grip because the guy was still really heavy. “I guess. I’m up to share if you want to make things fair.”

  “Really? Okay, hm…basics for me is that I owe Cameron Murcil a lot, sort of a life-saving thing that I’m not super going to go into. Ah, aside from that, I guess I’ve had sadistic tendencies and urges since I was little and my preferred victims for those urges were boys and later men my age or older with a preferred demographic being males in their late twenties to early sixties. Younger feels kinda eh and older feels kinda shitty, unless the guy’s a real prick–I’m talking a lot about myself and still being really vague, sorry.”

  “It’s all good, I was the one asking. You’ve got a demographic?”

  “Sort of? Just, preferred victims. Part of it might be a way of getting back at my biological father for walking out on my life and leaving me with my abusive grandparents, but my mom also walked out on me when I was actually old enough to miss her and I don’t hate other women all that much? I don’t think it’s even really a hatred thing so much as a confidence thing.”

  “So you like confident men?”

  “I guess that’s one way to say it? It’s more like I like breaking confident people. You know, the swaggering, douchebag type. I just like reminding people that they’re ultimately a tiny existence in the grand scheme of the universe, insignificant and small, and their worst terrors are not only real but actively coming for them.”

  It was at that point that I really started liking Miss Serial Killer. “I can respect that. Sounds more like a hobby than business though.”

  “Oh, uh, really? I mean…calling it a hobby feels like it’s, I don’t know…diminishing it?”

  “Nah, that’s not how I mean it,” I contradicted, shaking my head, “A hobby’s just as good as a job. Hell, it’s better, on account of how people actually enjoy the work they put into their hobbies.”

  “Huh…that’s an interesting way to think of things. What about you, by the way? Is this coming from a missing family thing? Unfulfilled ego? Oh, self-justified moralizing about the righteousness of your cause to disguise yourself from your otherwise empty life?”

  “...Are you a psychologist or something?”

  “Ah, uh...don’t ask further questions. You were saying something about your mysterious mobster backstory? Actually, real quick, I thought mobsters were supposed to be all fancied up in three-piece suits, fedoras, all that. Not wearing tracksuits.”

  “You’re not wearing a suit.”

  “Eh…you got me there, but I think I’m more of an affiliate than a full member. I did swear some oaths, but it’s more a personal bond with Cam than anything.”

  “So he’s like a father figure type?”

  “Oh, no, more like a brother. I don’t see him as too much of an authority figure, even if I take orders from him. Also, so, tracksuit?”

  I sighed, letting some annoyance show. Not at the slasher lady, I wasn’t annoyed with her, but just in general. “Mobsters can wear tracksuits fine. Russians especially have it as a fashion thing. As for me though, it’s the first thing I grabbed when my dipshit colleague called me up saying he’s got a very impolite word in his trunk and I need to come over and take care of it because I still owed him for covering for me at a bowling tournament, so on goes the simplest thing I can find. Not like you need to be fashionable to dump a stiff.”

  “...You’re disposing of a body because your friend–”

  “Colleague.”

  “Right, sorry, your coworker covered for you...for bowling?”

  “I sprained my ankle and we would’ve been down a man against the Belfords otherwise, so yeah, I asked that asshole Paulie to cover for me and then he dropped this on me, so I’m seriously reconsidering whether it was worth it.” I sighed again, glancing into the dark waters. Deep, black, and no sign of any life. “Asshole didn’t even contribute much according to Connor so it was a wash anyway.”

  “Right...you were heading to sleep at eleven at night? Seems early for a mobster.”

  “No, I was going to sleep at nine. It’s my day off tomorrow so I wanted to get a decent sleep for once in my life, get up early, maybe try jogging. You know, be healthier.” I adjusted my grip, trying to resist the urge to talk with my hands. “Instead, I get a call from a dickhead and come on over.”

  “...To do things that took three hours??”

  “I mean I had to pick up a snack, then get over to the jackass, then it’s over to the docks, and I was rowing out here, it’s not like everyone can just grab a speedboat–”

  “Er, sorry to interrupt, just...were his eyes always open?”

  I paused, then glanced down at the stiff. The stiff that wasn’t so stiff anymore and was actually starting to struggle– “FUCK!”

  A flare of pain hit me, making me jerk back thanks to the stiff slamming his head into my nose. Of course I let go of the body, more on reflex than anything else, and the stuff sunk while I tried to check my nose. “God, god dammit, ow...shit, does this look broken?”

  “Could you lean up a bit?” I did so, moving up so the lady could get a better look. “Um...I don’t think so? You might be a little bruised though.”

  “God dammit, getting a black eye from a dead man, the hell is my life coming to…”

  The lady shrugged. “He looked pretty alive to me at the end there.”

  “Well he shouldn’t’ve been! Paulie shot him twice in the head! Double-tapped, everything, and he was bleeding for a while! Or at least that's what the jackass said!”

  “Huh.” She glanced at the still water, only a few ripples showing what disturbed them. “...Maybe he’s a zombie?”

  “God I hope not–Wait, zombies die when you shoot them in the head, yeah?”

  “I don’t think that’s ever been scientifically proven? In fiction, sure, but we don’t really have zombies to test that on.” She tilted her head. “Well, yet, I think.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure the government would tell us all if they made an undead plague, definitely wouldn’t hide that until it turned rotten. But hey, if they did, at least it’ll give the watchdogs an excuse to dig up dirt, right?”

  I didn’t really expect her to laugh. “Pfff-ha! Ha ha, ah, yeah, guess it would, huh?”

  “...Heh. That it would, that it would. Right, well, I dumped my stiff, even if he did turn out less dead than I thought. Probably not gonna matter much though, since he’s dropping to the bottom of the bay, and you’re dumping parts around here anyway.”

  “Oh right, I was doing that. Um, sorry? It does sort of mess up your body disposal thing–did you rhyme that deliberately?”

  “Maybe.” I grinned when she snorted again. The lady had a cute laugh. “Would you mind taking credit for him if anyone asks? Since you’re trying to be discovered and all.”

  “Ha! Ah, well, one more body probably won’t make a difference. Might raise some questions even, but hey, it’s not my problem. It’s not like I even killed this guy.”

  “Are you also doing a favor then?”

  “Ehh, favor, job…I’m getting paid, so I think job is the better word for it. You’ll probably hear about it on the news tomorrow. Not the details, just context.”

  “Huh. Ominous. Well now I’m really curious.”

  “Heh, sorry, can’t share. At least, not right now.”

  “Well how about we discuss it later then? Over coffee, maybe?” I asked, giving a grin that would probably work better if my nose didn’t feel like it might fall off my face.

  “Do you know a midnight coffee shop?”

  “Nah, but I know one that opens around six. Probably not a great idea to go that early, but it’s a nice way to start the day.”

  “Uh…are you sure? I mean…” She hoisted the bag of body parts. “You know what I’m doing here, right?”

  “I sure do. And that’s what interests me. A mobster and a killer meet while dropping off bodies, talk a bit, and the mobster asks the killer out on a date. Sounds like the most ridiculous set-up you could’ve heard, right?

  My lips spread into a wide smile. “Don’t you want to hear what the punchline will be?”