“How many cans left?” Lou asked.
Richard had been keeping close track of the food supplies. One can a day, plus anything either of them scrounged from the outside world. No exceptions. There was a lock on the pantry door, and Richard had the key. His house, his rules.
“About a month’s worth.”
“I’ll take my dinner now.”
“Suit yourself.”
The key was on a necklace. Richard fished it out, slipped it into the lock.
Lou shot him once in the back of the head. The only worry was if the bullet had passed completely through and ruined a can.
