Reckoning
By
C. Inanen
The first one had been in Málaga. I’m nearly certain of that although it was so long ago many of the other details are obscured.
I remember the man had been on the telephone when he first heard me. He hadn’t seen me yet so he continued talking on the phone thinking what he was hearing came through that instrument.
“The time of your reckoning is at hand,” I told him, from down the short hallway. There was a mirror, a full length mirror, attached to a door which stood askew. I could see him through the mirror as I approached. Perhaps that led to a closet, I never learned. Maybe it was a dressing room of some sort.
He stood behind his desk, telephone in hand. He was patriarchal, quite handsome, with silver hair. “What?” he asked. “The reckoning?” There was a questioning tone in his voice as if he was both unsure and annoyed. “Who is this?
“Your reckoning,” I clarified, “Not the reckoning.” It was then I stepped around the corner and he saw me. I still was able to see him both in the mirror and on a line of direct sight, two images, one slightly distorted.
“Who are you?” He asked, looking at me while still speaking with the telephone held to his ear.
I fired the pistol five times. The noise was quite loud. “Payback,” I told him, answering his final question. “I’m a bitch.”
Author lives in the Midwest USA. His crime, police procedural and speculative fiction often include historical elements. City of Chicago Police homicide detective Laurie Sweet and the matter-of-fact 1930's bank robber Jones are two of his fan favorite characters. In addition to here in Exquisite Death his short stories can be found in Yellow Mama magazine, Close to the Bone, the Straylight Literary Arts Magazine and many other fine magazines as well as in the Black Hare Press Year Eight Anthology.
By
C. Inanen
The first one had been in Málaga. I’m nearly certain of that although it was so long ago many of the other details are obscured.
I remember the man had been on the telephone when he first heard me. He hadn’t seen me yet so he continued talking on the phone thinking what he was hearing came through that instrument.
“The time of your reckoning is at hand,” I told him, from down the short hallway. There was a mirror, a full length mirror, attached to a door which stood askew. I could see him through the mirror as I approached. Perhaps that led to a closet, I never learned. Maybe it was a dressing room of some sort.
He stood behind his desk, telephone in hand. He was patriarchal, quite handsome, with silver hair. “What?” he asked. “The reckoning?” There was a questioning tone in his voice as if he was both unsure and annoyed. “Who is this?
“Your reckoning,” I clarified, “Not the reckoning.” It was then I stepped around the corner and he saw me. I still was able to see him both in the mirror and on a line of direct sight, two images, one slightly distorted.
“Who are you?” He asked, looking at me while still speaking with the telephone held to his ear.
I fired the pistol five times. The noise was quite loud. “Payback,” I told him, answering his final question. “I’m a bitch.”
Author lives in the Midwest USA. His crime, police procedural and speculative fiction often include historical elements. City of Chicago Police homicide detective Laurie Sweet and the matter-of-fact 1930's bank robber Jones are two of his fan favorite characters. In addition to here in Exquisite Death his short stories can be found in Yellow Mama magazine, Close to the Bone, the Straylight Literary Arts Magazine and many other fine magazines as well as in the Black Hare Press Year Eight Anthology.
