He then got out the glove and pin, carefully dipped the pin into the SLuT9 solution, allowed it to drip dry and stuck it back into the pocket of the glove and pushed it through the leather.He rolled the glove carefully so he wouldn't get stabbed by the pin and put the glove into his left hand cargo pocket. He then slipped on his coat and headed back out to his junker of a car. "Oh, that reminds me," Dave said as he climbed in. "You're also going to cut back on the alimony payments you've been taking." He smiled and started the car.Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of his favorite bar and grill, Flannigan's. Flannigan had died seven years earlier but had left the bar in good hands. The new owner/manager had agreed to not change the name before Flannigan died. Dave was pretty sure that even though the name was the same, the food had gotten better since old man Flannigan died.Rebecca was at a table with a cocktail when Dave entered the bar. He waved to Josie who was. She wavered, briefly, before she walked into his bedroom. The argumentsin this room had been heated and strenuous. Each had always risen to thechallenge of the other, each defiant, each resolute. Could she have beenmore ordinarily tender-hearted? Could her words have not been so hideous,loathing, venomous? 'Compromise' had not been in their lexicon; but couldnot 'compassionate' have been in hers?She gently placed the parcel on her son's bed and carefully unwrapped it.She softly put her son's urn on his pillow. She delicately tied a prettybright pink bow around it. She bent over and, holding the sides of theurn as a mother would hold her child's cheeks, kissed it.She said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."She then stood up and looked out the window toward the front walkway. Hehad been missing for two years. The police had said that he had died afew days ago. He was seventeen. They had approached her house on thatvery walkway. The circumstances of his death were simple: on the.
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