I hoped I wouldn’t have to kill her. I probably would. But I hoped not. I’d never killed a woman before, though I didn’t suppose it would be a problem. Only I hadn’t counted on her looking like this. Her picture had made her look almost homely. I’d had no idea she radiated this aura of some goddamn thing or another, some damn thing that made me want to know her, made me uncomfortable at the thought of having to kill her.

“Hey,” she said.

I turned.

This one’s name was Nancy. She was wearing a skimpy black bikini. She had short dark black hair and looked like a fashion model. Or did I mention that already?

“You want to go down and swim?” she asked.

“Later,” I said.

“Is that Coke good?”

“It’s fine.”

“How come you don’t drink anything but Coke and that? Got something against liquor?”

“No. I have a mixed drink sometimes.”

“What d’you come out here for?”

“It’s nice out here.”

“Is it because you knew I’d smoke?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you have a single fucking vice?”

“Not one.”

“Tell me something.”

“Okay.”

“You always this blue after you do it?”

“Just sometimes.”

“Every time. With me, anyway. You always get all, uh, what’s a good word for it?”

“Quiet.”

“No. Morose. That’s the word I want.”

“Quiet is what I get. Don’t read anything into anything, Nancy.”

“I knew a guy like you once. He always got… quiet… after doing it.”