The phone rang.  I answered it.  A strange, gravelly voice on the other end of the line threw chills down my spine.

     “Youse wanted a contract?”

     “What?”  I pulled the phone from my ear for a second and peered at it as if I could see whom it was that asked me such an odd question.

     “I heard youse wanted to put out a contract on some guy called Phil.  I’m your guy.”

     “I have no idea what you are talking about.  I don’t know anyone called Phil.  Wait.  Is this a joke?  Did Jackie put you up to this?”

     “C’mon lady.  I don’t know any Jackie an’ I ain’t joking wid youse.  Ricky Da Nose tol’ me today you wanted somebody to off dis Punksadohicky Phil guy,” he growled.

     “Do you mean Punxsutawney Phil?”

    “Yeah, dat guy.”

     “It’s too late.”

     “What, did someone beat me to da contract?”

     “No.  It’s simply too late.  He already saw his shadow.”

     “Whaddaya mean by dat?  He croak?”

     “Yeah.  He croaked.”

     “Damn, I coulda used da money.”

     “Sorry about that.”

     “Well, if youse needs ta have anybody else offed, you call me.  I’ll do it fer cheap.”

     “I’ll do that.”