Chapter 10
“Hey, Rikka.”
“Go to hell, Paul!”
Erika “Rikka” Albert hung up the phone wishing it was one of those old style things you could slam back into the cradle. She’d have to write an app that did that—crashing down cradle sound then disconnect.
For Paul she’d make it ear-splitting loud.
Add some cathedral bells, crashing semis, and howitzer fire. Maybe do a subliminal layer of the T-Rex roar from Jurassic Park just to make it scary, too.
She returned to the order she’d been preparing in her catering production kitchen. There were still fifty more pieces of baby abalone sashimi and a hundred of tuna belly to cut. A couple dozen quick rolls of her spiced salmon and avocado sushi and she’d be done—the avocados all so perfectly ripe that she could smell the dusky warmth even though
