When the knocking came, Wren was picking at the last bits of her soggy, wilted salad. What should have been greens were more like grays. One hand was equipped with a fork, which she used to stab through the grays, hunting for those last good bits left. The other hand held a pen, which she twirled between her fingers. Business had been slow, but it always was around that time of year. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. She stayed open in February because of the “just-in-case” case, that would for sure come through had she not been available.

Wren’s line on business was… niche. That was a good word. She was someone you had to want to find. So, when that knock came, she felt two things. The first emotion was relief. Finally, she thought. She was getting so tired of digging through that dead bowl of sadness; she was glad for the distraction. But the overwhelming feeling was surprise. A client? In February? Hmmm…

Ren studied the silhouette in the window. The glass had a heavy tint, so anyone looking in couldn’t see anything. All they would see was the dark glass and the lettering that read, “Busy Bird Consultations.” It was an innocuous enough name. No one would know what really went on in there unless they knew what went on in there.

The person behind the door was shuffling from side to side. She could hear a voice muttering, “Don’t turn back now,” over and over again. After letting them suffer for a few more seconds, Wren decided they’d had enough.

“Come in,” Wren announced, sitting up straight after discarding the sad, gray salad.

The door opened, creeping centimeter by centimeter. Wren rolled her eyes. They always have to make such of production of it. Just come in already.

The door opened, and the light from the outside slipped in.

“Are you….”

“Come in. Shut the door. Sit down,” Wren motioned to the empty chair in front of her desk. The client followed Wren’s instructions. She wore large sunglasses; her head and face were obscured by a large hat. Wren hated when they did that. They did it to hide, but all it did was make them stand out more. Wren stared her down for a few extra-long seconds. She could tell it was making the client uncomfortable. Sometimes that’s all it took. A long stare and she’d be running out the door, yelling about how she’s changed her mind, how she was sorry she ever came.

But not this one.

As uncomfortable as she seemed, she stayed and waited for Wren to say something. Wren decided she’s tortured her enough.

“What’s your name?”

“Gina,” her voice whimpered.

“How did you hear about me, Gina?”

“I, um, I know someone who knew someone, who was um… the recipient… of one of your services. They said that maybe you could do the same for me? I mailed the deposit about two weeks ago?”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No!” she started to shake her head and her hands. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about this.”

“No one at all?”

“No one at all,” Gina repeated.

“All right. So, tell me. What can I do for you?”

Gina’s postured stiffened.

“I… I thought you knew why I came here.”

“Oh, I do. But I always make people say it. That way, I know they mean it.”

Wren laced her fingers together and leaned forward. She stared into Gina’s sunglasses. Gina’s trembling hand reached up and removed the dark lenses, revealing big sad brown eyes. She took off her hat and ran the other trembling hand through her cropped black hair. Gina took a few quick breaths, her chest rattling a little less each time. Wren could see her fighting back waves of nausea. If they passed her first test, this one usually failed them. She’d offered her services to hundreds of clients. But only about a dozen or so ever followed through.

Gina took a final deep, long breath and stared right back into Wren’s dark eyes.

“I want you to kill my husband.”

The air in the room became heavy. The way it always did when a client said the words out loud. Gina fidgeted in her chair. Fear and discomfort were alive in her eyes, and she shrunk a little in her chair.

For the clients that made it past the door, most stopped here. After hearing themselves say the words, they would change their minds and flee from Wren’s office as though it was on fire. Which is why she demanded a non-refundable deposit. A girl’s gotta eat. She provided specific instructions on how the money was to be sent to her. And it was different each time. This was murder-for-hire after all. She couldn’t risk getting caught.

Wren unlaced her fingers and sat up. She pulled out a thin, worn binder. It didn’t see the outside of the desk drawer often. She kept it looking old for effect.

“All right then, Gina,” she said, opening the binder. “There are three packages you can choose from. The first—”

“You’re going to ask why?” Wren flicked her eyes up at Gina and huffed a loud sigh.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

Gina’s eyes widened in surprise. She wrung her hands together.

“But what if—”

“Listen,” Wren slammed her hand on the table, causing Gina to flinch and yelp in alarm. “It doesn’t matter if he’s the scum of the earth or he’s the husband of the year and you want him dead so you can collect his insurance money and run off with your younger, hotter boyfriend. You paid me; you came here. It’s happening. Plus, it’s February. Right around Valentine’s Day. That tells me all I need to know. Now do you wanna hear the packages or not?”

Gina nodded.

“So,” Wren said, with a dramatic flip of the binder cover. “There are three packages to choose from. Your choices will depend on the complexity of the death, how long you’re willing to wait, and of course, how much you are willing to pay. The bronze package includes all your accidental deaths. Car accident, drowning, parachute malfunction, etc. This ranges from two to five thousand dollars, and can take up to three months.”

Wren paused to let Gina absorb all that.

“Um… why three months?”

“Well, if he died in an accident next week, it would look suspicious, wouldn’t it? Do you wanna get caught?”

“No!”

“Well, neither do I. So, you do want the bronze package, or would you like to hear about the other ones?”

“The other ones, please,” Gina said, looking contrite. Wren flipped the page.

“The silver package includes your suicides and overdoses. It ranges from eight to ten thousand dollars and can take from six months to a year.”

Wren paused again. This one always brought questions.

“That seems like a long time.”

“Well, think about it. No one just goes and offs themselves. I’ve got to set the stage. Things have to happen to him. People have to worry. There has to be a record of troubling behavior. Possibly even an intervention. Again, everything has to be unclockable.”

“That does make sense,” Gina said to herself. “What about the last package?”

“The gold package is death by natural causes. This is by far the most involved. It ranges from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars and takes from one to two and a half years.”

Out of the dozen or so clients that actually went through with it, no one had ever chosen the gold package. No one ever wanted to wait that long. It sort of disappointed Wren. No one had the patience or appreciation it took to play the long game.

“I have some questions,” Gina whispered.

“Of course, you do.”

“Well, I suppose I’d like a few specifics about each package.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

“No specifics. You only get those when you pick a package and sign the contract.”

“But—”

“No buts. Next question.” Wren crossed her arms in front of her chest. Gina pursed her lips for a second and relented.

“What guarantees do I have? What happens if we’re found out?”

“I guarantee he’ll be dead in the manner you chose. And if you’re caught, there will be no evidence of my involvement. The only way any foul play can be discovered is if you talk. And if you talk, you’ll pay for that on your own.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair,” Gina grumbled.

“Well, I’m not the one trying to pay someone to kill my husband.” Wren leaned forward on the table toward Gina. Gina shrank further down into the chair. “Am I?”
“I guess not.”

“Glad we understand each other then,” Wren leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest again. “What package would you like?”

“I have to choose now?”

“Can’t leave til you pick one.”

Gina straightened up. Wren waited for her to back out. Gina seemed soft and scared. Wren had every expectation that Gina would throw on her scarf and sunglasses and run out the door. Wren’s head snapped up in shock when Gina said,

“I pick the gold package. But I want it done in six months, and I’m willing to pay you forty thousand dollars.”