"Her?" asks Mike, pretending to be shocked by her gender, knowing full well how rare human assassins are, let alone women.
I nod silently.
"Did she say anything?" asks Mike.
"No, nothing. She didn't have a chance to."
"Wow," says Mike. "I guess that's too bad, in a way."
I shrug. "We all get what's coming to us, eventually. She just wasn't smart enough to quit while she was ahead."
Mike sighs. "I'm not an idiot, you know. You have to understand, it's business, nothing personal." He's sweating now. I watch a little bead of perspiration make its way down his forehead. "How much do you know?"
I make my way to the shelf and pour a shot of whiskey.
"It's a bit early for that, isn't it?"
"Special occasion," I insist. It always helps to inebriate your opponent, to give yourself any edge over him that you can when it comes to reflexes. "I know how attached people can get to certain ways of doing things. The comfort of the familiar." I look at my glass thoughtfully. "I think it's time to make a clean break." I get another glass, pour another shot, and hand it to him. Raising my glass, I declare a toast. "To the future."