Need a Lift?

Sounds of hooves and wheels echo across empty streets as Sapho rides home in her landau. It is very late, or very early but this weeks edition of The Lyre is ready for the presses. Blankly, but contentedly, Sapho stares out the window. No people about.

Strike that. There is a young man. He steps to one side, then another, then back again. He is in a pas de deux with a Rubbery Man, whose progress he is resolutely blocking.

Sapho’s eyes narrow.

A push sends the Rubbery Man sprawling, and the other man laughs. The Rubbery picks himself up, only to be pushed down again.

Sapho raps on the landau side, signaling her driver to stop. Inside her, red and darkness begin to churn.

It is very, very tempting to walk up to the man and put a bullet in his head. Her hand touches the butt of her Webley. But committing cold-blooded murder in front of one’s landau driver—and whatever other witnesses may be about—is not prudent.

But …

She shakes out her hair, ruffles her hands through it until it is entirely disheveled, and draws her knife. Exiting the cab she gives brief instructions to her driver.

Intent on repeatedly pushing the Rubbery down, the man does not notice someone approaching from behind. Twenty paces. Fifteen. Ten. And then … “A Jack! A Jack! Look out!”

Sapho raises the knife, screams like the hinges on the gates to Hell, and charges.

The man screams too. And runs. A lot. Fast.

And is gone.

And Sapho laughs and laughs.

Turning to the Rubbery Man she asks, “Need a lift?”