Living on a fixed income can be hard... even deadly!

Easy Mark

J. Alan Brown

"Here we are! Mr. Jones' office is inside on the second floor. Are you two ready to make lots of money?”

From the front seat, Betty Arbuckle flashed a reassuring smile to gray-haired Louise Fleischer in the back, clutching her handbag in her lap. The old Pontiac was parked behind an even older office building with peeling paint. Ray Lewis, sitting behind the wheel, nodded and grinned.

“ Bitte ," Louise said. “Please. Is most of savings. Arthritis medicine so expensive.”

“I understand, Mrs. Fleischer,” Betty said, “but Mr. Jones is a lawyer and he will arrange everything. It's just like I explained. With the money that Mr. Lewis found, plus your investment--split three ways--we'll each finish with eight thousand dollars! That's double your money, enough for plenty of medicine.”

Out of her handbag, Louise removed an envelope stuffed with bills--four thousand dollars withdrawn less than an hour earlier. She passed it to Betty with a trembling hand.

“Wonderful!” said Betty, slipping the envelope into her purse. “Now I'll go ask Mr. Jones to make all this legal. When I return, you can go inside and pick up your share of the money. I'm so happy for you, Mrs. Fleischer. For us all .”

Betty levered her bulk out of the vehicle, her purse in one arm, the box of money that Ray found in the other. Louise watched her enter the building through a back door.

Ray looked out the side window. “Can't thank you enough for this, ma'am,” he said. “I just didn't know what to do . Now my momma can get that surgery.”

Louise opened her handbag and extracted an item.

Five minutes later, Betty got back in the car, beaming.

“All right, Mrs. Fleischer! It's all taken care of. Mr. Jones is expecting you. Now, you go in next and he'll give you your money. Then it's Mr. Lewis' turn, and when he's finished we'll take you back . . .”

Ray was slumped over the steering wheel as if dozing, but . . . what was that down the front of his shirt? Was that . . . blood ?

With bony fingers, Louise gripped Betty's hair from behind, drew the straight razor across the woman's broad throat.

When Betty was finally still, Louise leaned forward and pulled her envelope of cash out of Betty's purse. Using a hanky, she wiped down everywhere she might have touched, then cleaned off the razor and tossed it on the floorboard.

Getting out of the car was painful on her hips, but she managed. She headed for the front of the building to call for a cab. No more pigeon drops on elderly immigrants for those two. Time to go home and make a phone call, then lie down until her stomach settled.

It had been a while since she'd taken a job, and the bloody ones always nauseated her. But living on a fixed income was tough these days and her arthritis medicine had gotten so expensive.