Leonora picked up the telephone with her perfectly manicured hand and dialed the ten-digit phone number on the piece of crumpled lined paper she was given so many months ago. It was only until now that she could muster up the courage to save her life and protect her sons.
Oh, how she wished she could go back to a simpler time, like when they were first married and loved each other unconditionally. Now, the buxom woman in her form-fitting signature blue dress wished she never uttered the words iI do./i Mascara is now staining her face and tears black as she waits to the sound of a monotone hum indicating that the other line is ringing.
She glances at the clock—almost six, she thinks to herself. Knowing that he will be home soon puts her on more of an edge than when she began to punch in the numbers. Someone on the other end picks up and the bland noise stops.
"'ello?"
She pauses before answering. "Y-yes. My name is Leonora—Leonora Grant. I-I heard that you were someone that would be able t-to… ihelp/i me."
"And wot kind of 'elp are we talking about, miss?" An Australian accent is spread thickly over his words.
"I'm gonna cut to the chase because I don't have m-much time—I know you're a bounty hunter and I'm in need of your services," the woman says curtly. A long silence greets Leonora, making her uneasy. Was this the right number? Had she been too cross?
"Well, you'd be right, ma'am. Now, who am I goin' after? I'm gonna need details."
Suddenly the sound of a key being rammed into the front door's lock is heard and the woman's blue eyes grow wide.
"Ma'am?" the man on the other line asks.
"H-he's home. I'll have to meet you somewhere so we can talk about it in person," her voice begins to quiver, her heart begins to race. "How about Dina's Café, tomorrow at noon in Boston."
"Sounds good, see you th—" She hangs up before he can finalize their deal fully.
A very drunk Mr. Grant stumbles through the doorway, the usual crazed glint in his eye. "You bitch, who we you just on the phone with? And don't fuckin' lie to me!" The scent of alcohol and tension is strong in the air.
"N-no one, dear. Just one of my girlfriends," Leonora reassures her husband. He takes several long strides towards her and takes a fistful of her jet black hair. She wants to scream, but swallows the urge so she doesn't wake up the slumbering boys just a floor above her. Taking the woman's face in his hands he whispers, "That better be the truth, or you know what's gonna happen, sweetheart."