Sometimes writers stop in the middle of conversations once they realize what they must sound like to the outside world. Often this happens when discussing the motivations of various winged or furry creatures. Yesterday, the woman behind the counter of the coffee shop must have wondered for a second or two whether the Missouri Mob was meeting at her place. I don’t want to give away anyone’s plot point, so here is an inexact reproduction of the conversation that will at least give you the gist of it:
X: You know that you’re going to have to kill the boy.
Y: Oh, definitely. He’s got to go.
Z: I’m not sure. That seems like such a cliche at this point. I mean two broken legs, a couple of broken ribs, and a punctured lung. Isn’t that bad enough?
Y: No. You have to be ruthless here.
X: Seriously. It’s the right thing to do.
Z: Well, I suppose I could….
X: Come on. Just kill him.