Janice

"Dah-ling" she said in that strange accent she always spoke in, as if she was from North Hollywood, instead of New Jersey where we grew up together. Janice stood before me in the doorway to her apartment, dressed in nothing but a thigh-length camisole. She looked good, just one reason why we'd stayed friends so long. "What are you doing here? I have company"

"Don't kid me Jay." I reached out to caress a lock of her blonde hair. "You've got chunks of flesh and bone in your hair, sloppy. Any company you might have won't be in any condition to complain about my presence."

"How do you know I'm not done for the night?" She dropped the accent to show her irritation.

"Because I know your work. You're thorough, but you're quick."

She smirked, brushed my hand aside. "Come on in then." Janice's living room was white and spotless as usual. Also as usual, had a strong smell of bleach and ammonia. Two necessities when you do what Janice does out of her home.

"So who did your father send you this time?" I asked.

She walked into her kitchen and spoke loudly through the wall, "Do you really want to know?"

I could imagine the things she'd do to me if she told, so I declined the knowledge. I took out a cigarette and lit it, just as I knew Janice was in the kitchen. The smoke was preferable to the smell and nasal burn of the chemicals. "Care to at least divulge the details?"

All I heard was the buzz of what I first thought was a blender. Then, "Is that an electric drill?"

Janice came out of the kitchen holding a plate of sandwiches and the drill. "Picked it up at the hardware store this morning. You'd be amazed the type of accessories you can get for these things."

I took the plate from her. She made the best finger sandwiches, so delicately filleted. That's another reason why we'd stayed friends for so long.