“Jennifer, cancel my 6:30,” I requested into my phone, voice wavering.

“That sounds so formal, dude. What happened to just Jen and Jack? Plus, are you sure? It’s Steven,” Jen replied. Bless her heart, but I could care less if the awe-inspiring, handsome Steven Rawlings wants to suck up to me for two whole cocktails.

Canceling the appointment, I pull out the burner phone I bought at- it’s not important where I bought it.

“3...4...7....” Mumbling the phone number scrawled on my arm, I typed each numeral into the phone.

“This is Joe’s Sweets, what can I do for you today?” A high pitched voice asked across the phone.

“Oh uh, hi. Can I talk to Joe?” I questioned. Instruction guides for this weren’t too specific.

“Well, Mr. Joe is a busy man. Would you like to schedule a meeting?” The secretary queried.

“Umm, yes. Could I come to a licorice meeting with him?” I further prodded.

“Oh, yes. Let me transfer you to line three-BEEEEP,” the secretary replied hastily, and a loud sound on the other end startled my already fragile heart.

“Black or red licorice?” A deep voice asked me on what I assumed was line three.

“Red.”

“Cherry or strawberry?” he asks. What does that mean? Crap.

“Ummm... clarify.” I stutter, hoping the words that came out sounded like a sentence.

“You or someone else?”

“Oh, someone else.” I reply quickly.

“Strawberry. Tonight, 11 on the dot. Back door. Be quiet.” the man whispers into the receiver on the other end of the line, before the distinct click of a hang up dial.

Gathering my belongings, aka the burner phone, a packet of money and information, and my wonderful personality. It did win me a few awards. Golden ones, Jack. Golden awards for my golden demeanor.

Entering through an already opened sliding door at 10:59, I smell the sweetness of citrus, butterscotch, watermelon, cherry, strawberry, and the rest of the contents of your Grandma’s purse.

“Hand over the information.” I hear the same deep voice from earlier. I am assuming this is Joe, but I can’t be sure.

“Ok” About ten voices mutter in the dark, all of them sounding in surprise at the other’s existence.

“Welcome to the Licorice Association. We do con artists, offenders, friends and family.”

“Just do the job man, don’t make this into some society,” someone muttered.

“Murdering someone is a big deal, so I sure will make it some society. I will make this as stressful for you as possible, you’re not the one dying. But you will learn how to make candy today. You chose a strawberry licorice lesson with Joe, so here we are,” Joe replied in a huff, clearly already tired of the man’s resistance.

“Why are we making candy? It’s not going to kill my wife,” one man said, and the rest of us scoffed at him.

“We’re all here for the same reason, don’t get all high and mighty with me!” The guy instructed.

“He’s right. And it is going to kill your wife. In your case, we don’t have to do much dirty work. Give your wife some candy and get rid of the bag it was in. For the rest of you, we will dispose of any evidence at the scene before the fuzz get it,” Joe explained.

Oh. I get it. I hired the most painful hitman for me. Well, I hired the most painful hitman club.

Watching the poisoned licorice ingredients melt and boil in a pot made all of our emotions boil over. The man next to me was making a treat for the guy who hurt his daughter. My selfish reasons for hurting my best friend were making my tears boil over, just in time for the licorice to be combined with starch.

Jenny doesn’t deserve this, but I don’t see a future with her in it. The more successful I get, the more she promises to tell my secret one day. First I have to pay her brother’s bail, next I have to employ her.

My life can’t end with her, so hers will end with me. Twisting the cooled licorice at 3 in the morning really gave me the same perspective, but in a more tired way.

“Pay up and hand over your information, men. Now turn in your strawberry licorice as you think about what you’ve done,” Joe commanded.

As of tomorrow, I’ll have two strikes in the game of murder.