Nitriles

“Hot damn. D’you know nitriles come in black now?”

Cleo froze, holding her wrapping scarf up by both ends, and leaned to the left so she could see Dixie in the hotel bathroom mirror. Dixie was lying on her stomach, flicking through her burner phone.

“For real?” Cleo asked.

“Yeah! Look!” Dixie said, rolling off the bed and meeting Cleo at the sink. She held her phone up so Cleo could see while she finished tying her hair up. “They come in purple too, but black, am I right? A hundred of ’em for thirty bucks.”

Cleo pulled the knot in her scarf tight.

“I wonder why the Syndicate doesn’t jump on that,” Cleo pondered. “It’d go with the uniforms better than the blue ones.”

“Fuck their uniforms. We just called dibs,” Dixie said. “We can wear whatever the hell we want and they’ll still match.”

“Well, don’t order them yet,” Cleo said. “We got a lot of other shit to sort out before we worry about gloves.”

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