“Chevy Chase! Wait! No! That was Gerry Ford”
The buzzer sounded, sighs sighed and shoulders slumped. We had lost a round of Verboten. Again.
I couldn’t say:
I am not a crook
“Sucks to be you,” Henry added to the silent denunciations my own mind was telling me.
“Sucks to be us,” I corrected.
Henry and I had been losing to his wife and sister-in-law at Verboten every other Saturday night for about 2 months now and it never got old.
You see, Henry’s lovely wife Janet had hired me to kill him and my research period was just about up.
I clapped Henry hard on the back just between the shoulder blades and went to the fridge for a beer while Henry cleared his throat and tried to act like my chop hadn’t bothered him at all. It was a put-on he failed to pull off and the two women snickered at my conquest.
I cracked a smile over the door of the fridge, offering a beer to Hank as well, which he begrudgingly yet happily accepted.