None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.

-Jane Austen, Persuasion

"Oh, Dear! Come on in, quick, or you'll get soaked!" Margaret urges when she sees me waiting outside her front door.

I walk in, peeling my wet jacket off my shoulders and drying off my boots on the welcome mat that says "Welcome Kittens" in a flurry of hurried movements. I ring out my long ponytail to rid it of as much moisture as possible, damp chestnut hair sticking to my face and neck. I wipe my dripping hands on my equally wet jeans and air out my soaked t-shirt briskly.

Margaret needs to get her fucking sprinklers adjusted.

"The weather is so beautiful today, all that sun and the birds are singing," she chirrups, "perhaps we should have our tea outside today. What do you think dear?"

"Great idea, ma'am." I try to make myself sound cheery and offer a small smile. She hates it when I am in a fowl mood during our weekly visits.

"I've missed you so much!" she says, "I even made you some scones! It's a brand new recipe I just saw on TV, from a nice lady who's name I can't remember... OH!" she stops walking, "Marsha Stewart! That's who it was." Shee starts walking again toward the living room. "Silly old me," she taps her grey head a few times and turns to saunters to the back door.

I follow on her heel, trying not to cringe too much at the kitten paintings littering the pink walls. I could never get used to them with their dead eyes always watching me.

As expected, a flowery porcelain tea set is set out onto the backyard patio and a plate of yellow scones are piled on a plate in the center.

"Here, have a seat, dear." She gestures to one of the chair, "and make sure you have one of the scones."

I take my seat and try not to flinch when I accidentally feel the tip of the Colt I am carrying in my back pocket poke my ass.

I hesitantly take a bite into one of the pastries. Who knows what the crazy old bat put in them?

To my surprise, they are actually good. A little strong on the lemon, but good.

"Have you seen my new hostas?" she points to an amalgamation of bushes at the far end of her yard, which to be honest, no, I had not seen. They literally just look like big leaves sticking out of the ground, "curious little things they are. Some of them have a white outline, while some of them have a white patch on the inside and others have no white at all on them! Do you see?"

I nod my head. Curious indeed."

"How is Maleficent doing? Such a lovely pet, she is." She smiles longingly.

"She's great," I take a swig of burning hot tea, "You know, when she isn't trying to eat the neighbour's dog or piss on my couches."

Margaret chokes on her scone, but quickly regains her composure.

"Oh no! But she is just misunderstood, dear!" she sympathies, "You know, maybe you should try getting her one of those shock collars? I normally would advise against them, of course, but how else are you expected to control such a spirited little thing?" she takes a little sip of her tea.

"Oh she has one already. She just doesn't seem to mind it."

"What about that famous guy on TV? Caesar, the one who helps with misbehaving dogs?"

"Well, there is the minor detail that Maleficent isn't a dog."

"Right, right. Another scone?" She offers when I shove the last piece of mine in my mouth.

"No, thank you. It was delicious though." I discreetly look down at my watch, hoping our two hours are almost up.

They are not.

"And have you killed anyone interesting lately? You know how much I love your work stories," she asks sweetly.

Let me tell you about the time Margaret started blackmailing me into visiting her twice a week.

It was a cold November night. Snow had just begun falling, covering the quiet Ottawa streets of a fine, white film. People always said Ottawa was a boring city, and perhaps the fact that it was 11 o'clock on a Thursday night and most people were already in bed with the lights off had something to do with that. This was my very first week here, and coming from Toronto myself, I was a little puzzled by the deserted streets. It was to my advantage though, because the woman who's neck I was currently trying to break was a lot noisier than I had expected, especially considering the fact that I had drugged her pretty well. She should be calm and relaxed.

When the deed was finally done and I was in the midst of placing her body in a garbage bag, a clicking noise followed by a stark white flash startled me. I turned towards the light and another click and flash happened, making me raise my arm to protect my now blinded eyes.

"What the fuck?!" I hiss, finally able to reopen my burning eyes.

"Good evening," I hear an old, but gentle voice coming from the back of the alley.

I squint my eyes to better see the small frame approaching me. When she is close enough, the first thing I notice is how short she is. Standing at barely 5 feet tall, with grey hair and a stubby frame, she dangles two polaroid photographs in front of me. After a few seconds, you can clearly distinguish me manipulating a dead body on the first one, and me with a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face on the second. I scowl at her and make a move to grab the picture from her, but she is too quick and tucks them in her pocket.

"What the hell, lady?"

My hand reaches for my blade, ready to murder her for having seen too much. I tried to never murder anyone outside of a contract, but in some cases it was inevitable. This was one of them.

"Wait!" she exclaims, placing both hands above her head, "First of all, you don't want to kill me. I'm suppose to meet someone right now, and if I don't show up in time, he'll come looking for me. You won't have time to dispose of my body AND hers." she puts her camera in her large purse, before looking back at me, seeming way too relaxed for the situation, "Second, I have a proposition for you."

I let go of the blade, ready to hear her. I would have absolutely no problem killing her and disposing of her body fast enough, but the truth was, I did not want to kill someone unless I absolutely had to.

"Let's hear it."

"Look, I'm just an old, lonely woman with many cats. You seem like a nice girl," what an odd thing to say to someone who has just murdered a woman in a dark alley? She clears her throat, "If, and only if, you agree to visit me, let's say twice a week until my death, I won't tell anyone your little secret." she proposes.

I looked at her with a raised brow, a little bit of disbelief showing on my face. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt instead of murdering here right then and there. If things went awry, I would simply kill her without much effort. After all, what trouble could an old lady be?

"Let's say I accept your proposition, how can I be sure those pictures will stay between the two of us?"

"You can't. You'll just have to take my word for it, dear." She answers sweetly, "I have to run, here are my details," she scribbles something on a notebook and passes it to me, "I'll be expecting you Sunday afternoon at 2:00 pm sharp." And with that final word, she adjusted her yellow beret and made her way out of the alley and unto the dark street.

Margaret takes a sip of her hot tea, keeping her eyes trained on me as she does. I have been stuck visiting her for two years now.