A short story by Glenda Fralin.

The wind nearly pushed open the cafe door for Pat. She hung her coat on the rack; then looked across the dining area to see her editor friend waving her hand over her head. Pat walked to the table and said hello as she seated herself. She was exhausted already and sat with a plop in the chair. “Hi Janice, how’s your day?”

“Same, same except for this weird wind,” Janice said with a bored tone.

“Yeah, I hear ya there dear. Not much change around here, but that wind is weird.” Pat went on. Its chill isn’t the usual October chill. It bites the skin like little biting flies, but no respectable fly would be out in it. But, other than that…” “Why can’t we have a good old murder or something in this town to stir the writer’s juices a bit? At least it would put something called news in the paper.”

“I know, but you know what they say about being careful what you wish for.” Janice admonished with a teasing grimace. “Besides, don’t you think murder is a bad omen to wish for?”

Pat looked up and let her eyes travel around the cafe she was so familiar with. It had a spark of elegance to it with its regal blue tones, plastic covered table cloths and small lit candles to add a warm feel. She noticed a few other people from the writing and publishing business that she knew. Looking back she saw that Janice had poured her a glass of the house wine and was breaking off a crisp bread stick.

“Shoot Janice, I’m just sick of trying to find a fresh topic for an article. It’s the same story over and over again. New bleachers in t he high school gym, or Mr. Withers had another fender bender.”
The 32 year old red head did have a bit of the macabre to her. Janice had pointed that out to Pat a few times. But, you almost had to have in this business.

“I’ll stick to the editing and let you go find a good murder to plot.” Janice joked. “You have been in a bit of a rut lately. The adventure has kind of vanished. I’d sure like to see you get that edge back.” Janice agreed.

“I’m just so dry right now.”

“Well,” Janice said nearly whispering. “What about a story about a writer having lunch with her editor in a nice downtown cafe when a man walks in with a gun and the look of a crazy man?”

Looking down as she placed her napkin in her lap Pat said “Good try Jan, but a little far fetched.”

“Not kidding Pat.” Janice whispered as Pat looked up puzzled. Following Janice’s eyes Pat saw that it was not a joke at all. There was a man approaching their table holding a pistol half hidden in his coat and acting as if he was just going to sit down. But his gray eyes had the look of a psychotic as Pat could ever imagine a psychotic would look. His hair was mussed and an evil smile crossed his too perfect lips.

“Scoot over lady,” the menacing figure demanded of Pat. Pat slid over to the next chair and he sat down with his back to the rest of the café.

“What – do - you - want?” Janice asked the question halting from fear.

“I want you to shut up, and I want your friend here to give me her left hand.”

“What?” Pat asked, too shocked to be afraid anymore.

“Do you want to lose a finger on your right hand lady”? Asked the man low tones.

Pat held out her left hand to him, as he cracked a smile again. He reached in under his coat and pulled out a small object. “Marry me lady, or I’ll shoot you on the spot.”

Pat couldn’t hold it any longer. “Ok, Dennis. You got me dead to rights.” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss. “Yes,” she said as he raised the tip of the gun to his lips and bit off a hunk of dark chocolate.

“I swear you two are the weirdest couple I know,” Janice said, “and that’s saying some.” But, her grin shown bright teeth of approval. “Congratulations!”