That peppermint smells familiar.

"Enjoying yourself? A little birdie told me you were filming at Target," Gene Carey says from Zandra's chair behind the oak desk inside Sneak Peek.

"Gene Carey? What the hell are you doing here?" Zandra says, the rehearsed smoothness of her made-for-TV voice defaulting back to its original chalky croak.

As head of an insurance empire, Gene is one of Wisconsin's most successful – and corrupt – businessmen. Twenty-five years ago, he murdered Zandra's husband, David, out of fear of exposing his company's scams. Although Zandra had her suspicions, she could never prove Gene killed David.

That all changed six months ago, when Zandra used her psychic "powers" to track down Gene's missing daughter. Gene confessed to David's murder to provide a sense of closure for Zandra. He also used in influence to keep her out of prison, given all the mayhem she caused in the process of finding his daughter.

In exchange, Zandra agreed to keep quiet about the secrets in the files she gathered on Stevens Point's most corruptible citizens. Although Gene wound up keeping the files, Zandra's memory would prove more than enough to bring down the entire town.

The shaky truce means Zandra is free to enjoy the fruits of her newfound celebrity, and Gene is able to gear up for a gubernatorial race next year without interference. He'll need all the focus he can get. If elected, he'd be one of Wisconsin's oldest governors.

Of course, neither specified how long the agreement should last.

Maybe that's why he's here. To tell me the deal is off. Wouldn't be the worst timing. He's sitting pretty close to the drawer with the lawnmower knife.

Gene pops a peppermint into his mouth. Zandra catches a glimpse of his perfect teeth. They didn't used to look that way.

Veneers. He's getting ready to be governor. A little premature when he hasn't even won his party's nomination yet. But it's something for him to spend money on. The "burden of success" is such a bitch.

"Why the hostility? Can't an old friend stop by for a visit?" Gene says. The loose skin draped over the bony architecture of his face fold into a grin. He holds his hand out. "Peppermint?"

Zandra takes a step toward the desk. "I'll pass. I'm more interested in how you got inside a locked building," she says.

"Didn't you hear? They gave me the key to the city, along with everything else in it," Gene says. He rises from the chair and offers it to Zandra. "I'll have the key to the entire state soon."

Zandra takes back her seat at the desk. She can't help but notice that the picture of David is knocked over.

You bastard.

Her fingers itch for the drawer with the lawnmower knife.

"So you want to talk about your campaign, is that it? I'd like to talk about something else first," Zandra says.

"Oh, really? What's that?" Gene says as he feigns interest in the occult trinkets and books for sale.

Zandra drops the pink shoe prop onto the desk with a hollow thunk. "This look familiar?" she says.

Gene wrinkles his nose. "I have no interest in macabre dog toys, thank you very much," he says.

Nothing in his body posture or facial expressions indicate Gene is lying. Then again, Gene isn't the type of person to do the dirty work himself.

"What about the person you hired to stick all those notes in my mailbox? He like dog toys?" Zandra says.

Gene acts uninterested. He inspects a purple crystal the size of a football. "Please give me more credit than that, Zandra. If I'm going to intimidate you, I'm just going to do it. I didn't build my insurance company from scratch by being passive aggressive."

No, you built it with bribes, phony police reports and preying on customers too stupid to know what they were signing. When I do it, it's for entertainment at best and comfort for the gullible at worst. When you do it, people lose their houses, their jobs and their marriages. You'll never be better than me, Gene. I didn't kill someone to keep my scam afloat.

"I'll take you at your word, Gene," Zandra says. "When you want to get to someone, you don't stick a threat in the mail. You break into their place of business and do it in person. You're going to be one hell of a governor."

Gene sets the purple crystal back on its shelf. Pops in a fresh peppermint. It keeps the shit on his breath from corrupting the air in the room.

"You're smart. That's why you'll always be a problem," he says. "I don't mind loose ends like you, Zandra. But the more I invest in this campaign, the more I wonder if maybe getting rid of you now is the smart thing to do."

He's a got a point. But so do I.

Zandra opens a drawer and pulls out the lawnmower knife. It's as ugly as the day Herman the Hermit made it for her six months ago. The sigil he etched into the blade, a 27 with arms and legs, is faded but still visible. It's supposed to grant her protection, per Herman's acid-fried logic. Feels like the right time to bring it out.

"I disagree," Zandra says and slams the point of the blade into a phone book resting on the desk.

Gene looks amused. "That's cute. You think you can intimidate me? One phone call is all it takes to stuff you away in prison for the rest of your life. I don't even need to make up a reason for the police now that you brought that trash you call a knife out. Thank you," he says.

Zandra tugs the knife from the phone book. Pretends to pick her fingernails with it instead. "There a point to any of this?" she says.

"In a minute," Gene says. He strolls back to the purple crystal with his cocky gait. Runs a hand over its hard angles. "This crystal reminds me of something. It's like a rocket. Do you remember the Cuban Missile Crisis?"

It's story time. Great. Leave it to Gene to chew the scenery.

"Of course I do. What's that have to do with me and you?" Zandra says.

"Quite a bit, actually. The great irony is that it showed how nuclear weapons in the hands of two superpowers actually made the world safer," Gene says. He turns to Zandra. "Would you like to know why?"

"You're probably going to tell me anyway."

Gene crunches down on the peppermint between his sparkling teeth. "It's because each superpower knew it would be destroyed by the other if one of those nuclear weapons actually deployed. They called it Mutually Assured Destruction. Had only one superpower possessed nuclear weapons, it could bully the rest of the world into submission. It could destroy the other superpower unopposed. And the chain reaction of events would bring down civilization with it. Thank goodness MAD kept the peace," he says.

"So what?" Zandra says.

"We're kind of the same way, Zandra. The more power I get with this campaign for governor, the more power you have in your ability to bring me down, and the more likely I am to stamp you out. But you're too visible of a celebrity now to simply push you off a bridge or drown you in Soma Falls," Gene says.

He pauses to let Zandra gnaw on those last two words before continuing. Soma Falls is where Gene had David murdered.

Asshole.

Zandra sets the picture of David upright on the desk. "It wouldn't be out of character for you," she says.

"It's more complicated with you than with your late husband. He wasn't filming a reality series," Gene says. "We sit now at the same juncture, one of Mutually Assured Destruction. Even though my campaign is still in the exploratory phase, it will certainly go forward into the primaries. No one can bring in the political donors like me. And that's why I'd like to make a donation to you."

Keep talking, Gene. The recording equipment hidden near that purple crystal can hear you just fine.

Gene sets a cashier's check down on the desk. It's made out to Zandra for several million dollars, remitted by one of the legal fictions he likely uses to launder money.

"You have two options, Zandra. Take this money and go far, far away. See the world. Buy some property near the ocean. I don't care. Just get out of Wisconsin and away from my campaign," Gene says.

Zandra inspects the check. Despite how much she loathes Gene, the sight of all those zeroes sends a shiver of excitement down her back.

"What's the other option?" she says and taps her foot. It's a subconscious trigger she's been building inside Gene's mind. With enough time, the tapping should associate with an inexplicable feeling of dread. "Let me guess. It ends with me dead."

Gene nods. "You can either go away willingly or forcefully. Your choice. Make it soon," he says.

Zandra glances again to the picture of David, then to the check.

You'd understand, wouldn't you, David? It's not about the money. It's about surviving. I've fought to get by for so long, and now I'm finally at a place where I don't have to anymore. Isn't that what you would've wanted? Isn't that enough of a revenge in itself?

"I'll think about it," Zandra says. She crams the check into her pocket.

"Please do," Gene says and starts for the door. "And you might also consider getting new recording equipment."

"Excuse me?"

Gene slips a fresh peppermint between his lips. "My people cleared this building while you were at Target. They found a hidden microphone and followed it back to your recorder. I'm sure you understand why they had to permanently disable it. Can't have another loose end out there," he says.

Zandra plucks the lawnmower knife from the phone book. "Get out," she says.

"With pleasure," Gene says and leaves to a waiting SUV.

After burning another cigarette to get her pulse down, Zandra heads to the recorder hidden behind a false panel in the wall. Sure enough, Gene's "people" disabled the hell out of it. It's in a few hundred pieces. Lost is not only her recent conversation, but recordings from her other clients.

Had she stuck with her usual routine of writing out notes by hand each night, the loss wouldn't sting as much. Instead, she used the recorder as a crutch to save time, waiting to write them out en masse. Her schedule doesn't allow her the luxury of time anymore.

To compound her frustration, the tip of the lawnmower knife is folded over from digging into the phonebook. Herman warned about that happening eventually. Because of the time crunch when he made it, he skipped the heat treating that would normally harden the simple blade. The softer metal can still stand up to a lot, but repeated abuse can warp the crude design.

That means it's off to Herman the Hermit's shack in the woods for a tune up. They haven't spoken in months. The winter weather pushed him underground, literally, and it's only now in the springtime that he stretches his legs like a hibernating bear.

It'll be good to catch up. He always knows what to say.

Except Herman isn't so happy to reunite with Zandra as she turns a corner around one of the trash heaps outside his shack. Not at all.