Even though years in this business had caused his hands to develop a feel for money, acting as calculators based on the weight and size of a package, paranoia still caused Charles Shwaldy to count all the cash that changed hands in his extremely shady business meetings. He had just finished counting the five hundredth ten dollar bill when the man sitting across from him cleared his throat.

“So, you’ll kill that annoying old hag for me?”

Charles looked up from the cash and nodded. He tossed the roll of hundreds onto the old coffee table and sat back, getting comfortable.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Any specific way you want it done?”

“For insurance purposes,” the man wiped the sweat off his forehead, “could you make it some sort of painless accident?”

“Yes, of course.” Charles allowed himself to smile. They both stood and shook hands, Charlie headed to the door. His hand was on the knob when he turned, doubts were clouding his rugged face.

“If I kill Ma, who’s gonna cook Thanksgiving dinner this year?”