The Yahara Journal 2020 edition

DEATH DAINTILY Daniel Reschke

It rained last night, and by the look of the sky, it wasn’t over yet. The dark clouds covered the stars and blotted out the moon, leaving the night to be lit only by the streetlights that dotted the roads and reflected in the large puddles of water that covered the ground. I could hear that the wind was calm though, leaving the puddles to be disturbed only by the occasional vehicle or streetwalker that splashed through them.

The sounds of the streets that night resonated through the thin walls of my office. The blaring of car horns, the cat calls of hookers on the prowl, and the roaring of the train as it pulled into the nearby railyard all added to the background noise of life in this city.

But even with such loud noises coming at me from all sides, it still seemed oddly quiet. A strange hush had fallen over the wind despite the obviously brewing storm.

Storms were drawn to me it seemed. Even as one gathered outside, another stood in my office, staring holes in my back as I looked out the window. I could see her reflection in the glass. She was a pretty little storm in a long, tight dress. One whom I knew well.

With a last puff on my cigarette, I ground the butt into the windowsill. “I’m afraid I’m closed for the night madam, or did the locked door not tip you off?”

“Come now Ace, since when have I ever let a mere lock stand in my way?” the woman cooed.

I prefer thunderstorms. I can avoid a thunderstorm. I can bar my windows and seal my doors from the wind and rain. No window or door or lock could keep this storm of a lady out. If you put a solid wall between her and her goal, she’d figure out a way to walk through it.

“Such a waste of talent when the hardest thing you need to get into is another person’s pants,” I remarked, looking over my shoulder at the woman.

“It’s my girls that get into their pants,” she corrected, “I get into their heads, their hearts, and their wallets.” Her words were getting snappier, not with irritation, but impatience. I couldn’t put this off forever.

I flipped my collar up against the oncoming storm and turned around.

“So what can I do for you, Antimony?” I asked. This girl, Antimony King, was the 13