Golden Penthouse

Well, this wasn’t good. It seemed that this fellow I’d just eaten was some kind of corporate executive, under investigation for embezzlement. As a condition of his bail he had a GPS tracker implanted in his body—which was currently passing through mine.

If the tracker was seen to leave the area, it would certainly draw some unwanted attention—and if they caught up to me, I would have some annoying explaining to do. So, it looked like I was going to have to hang out in his penthouse for a day or so until nature took its course. He wasn’t married—but he did have a live-in mistress. But that wouldn’t be too much of a problem; I’d just gulp her down and then have the place to myself.

When I let myself into the penthouse, a couple of hours later, she was there waiting. As the door opened, she looked up from a book and said, “How was the par—hey, you’re not Bill.” Then she stared at me and her eyes widened in recognition. “You. It’s been a while.”

As far as I knew, I had never seen her before in my life.

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