The Job

Tinder
Smoke

“What part of no are you having problems understanding?” Tinder plopped into a chair, ruffling her short platinum spikes. “I’m not shooting some damned farmers because some asshole hardholder decides he wants their farms.” She pulled the stopper from the bottle of rotgut with her teeth, pouring a healthy slug into two glasses and sliding one to her friend.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to take the job, you just gotta listen while he makes the offer.” Smoke clinked their glasses together and they both downed the shot, grimacing at the burn. “That’s horrible. Where’d you get this swill?”

“From those farmers you’re so intent on me shooting.” Tinder glared. “No one is forcing you to drink it if you hate it so bad.”

“I don’t hate it. I’m just saying it’s not up to my usual standards.” Smoke sniffed, pouring them another. “Look, the old man asked for you by name. You gotta at least hear him out.”

“My dad used to say I ain’t gotta do nuthin’ but stay black and die.” Tinder continued to glare at her purple haired friend. “He can find someone else to do it. No more arguing.”

“Fine” Smoke sighed. “But I don’t wanna hear you whining when he doesn’t give you any more calls for jobs since you won’t even stoop to hear his offers.”

“You’re an annoying little twerp, you know that?” Tinder huffed, finishing her drink with a shudder. “That is pretty horrible.” She stared down at the empty glass.

“Im not gonna say I told you so… but I may have mentioned it.” Smoke grinned.

Tinder rolled her eyes. “When does he want to meet?” she sighed, resigned to listening to her partner.

“Tomorrow morning!” Smoke squeaked happily. “Like I said, you don’t gotta say yes, you just gotta hear him out. You won’t regret it. I promise!” She flung her arms around her friend.

“I’m already regretting it.” Tinder gave her a light squeeze. “Now get off me and figure out what we’ve got for dinner. I’m starving here.” She gave the other woman a kiss on the forehead as she pushed her away.

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