Hungry After a Job

John sighed and shoved the paper bag back into his jacket. “How the hell can you eat after seeing that?”

Carolyn stepped over the remains of the latest agent who’d come seeking The Carrier and sheathed her knife. She held out one hand, and John fished the paper bag back out of his jacket, handed her the sandwich.

She unwrapped it and bit into it with a low moan of relief.

John winced and turned away. He hunted through the garbage until he found a couple of cardboard boxes he could flatten and throw over what was left of a human being.

Carolyn headed for the mouth of the alley. “C’mon - you have to be back with the instrument rig before soundcheck.”

John trotted to catch up with her. She’d wolfed down the entire sandwich and was licking the vinegar and mustard off her fingers.

“Bob’s not gonna kiss you, you know. You ask for the nastiest stuff on your sandwiches.”

“The boys are going out for sushi after the show, and as I recall, this time the Orphaneers had a back-up plan, so there won’t be any kissing for anyone tonight.” Carolyn tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can and fished in her pockets.

“Did you lose something?” John asked.

“No - there’s an ice cream vendor just up the way. I want dessert.”

“Seriously, how can you eat after a wet job?”

“I don’t eat before as a precaution, obviously - spewing mid-job leaves DNA evidence,” Carolyn said.

John cast her a sidelong glance.

“Think about how long I’ve been a wet worker, John.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say that sometimes they withheld food until I agreed to complete a task.” Carolyn smiled at the ice cream vendor and spoke in smooth, rapid Italian. Gelato was a heaven-send. “Now it’s something of an ingrained pattern - I’m hungry after a job.” She took her first lick of her chocolate treat, and her eyes slid closed. She hummed, pleased. “Sure you don’t want any? My treat.”

“I was an Army Ranger, and sometimes you scare the hell out of me.”

(354 words)