The Devil And The Straw Seller

The rules are simpler than you’d think. They don’t want your soul, it’s precious to you but they don’t have a use for it. They want you to do things for them, could be anything and you’ll probably never know their designs. You don’t want to know their designs. If you get curious back away from this, this type of deal isn’t for you.

My liaison was Harriet. She was tall, curvy and young with long red hair, although that means less when you can choose your form. I was a married man, so I wasn’t ever tempted, vows being set in stone. She stared out the window effecting a slightly obvious inorganic disinterest. She would do anything to keep her eyes off the bit of cloth and the black barrel protruding out from under.

“You just want me to sell it?”

“You can get $400 for it.”

“What do you get?”

“Nothing that effects you.”

For a moment I thought smoke was leaving her mouth but then I realized that was her breath. It’s apparently a lot warmer where she comes from. The waitress had already pointed out that this was a non smoking establishment. Seeing as though there was no cigarette and no lingering smell, the poor woman could only shrug and file it under strange shit unexplained. She simply left our meals and drink on the table. Overall, the service at the diner was exquisite.

I had a Mexican scramble, while Harriet had biscuits and gravy with quite a bit of Tabasco. We were both enjoying our meals and neither looking at the veiled nonregistered centerpiece. The food was good and the coffee was cheap but passable. The conversation sat on the table, awkwardly waiting for ingestion to finish. Five minutes later we were back to talking.

“Where do I sell it?”

“On the black market.”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Where desperate men congregate.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s all the answer you need.”

As Harriet reached for her wallet, I left with the gun quickly swept into my bag. I made sure to leave a tip as I was sure that Harriet wouldn’t. Not to say that Harriet was above stealing a tip but there are always risks. As far as I know she paid for the meal. I never went back to that Diner. The black market was easy enough to find. It was close by and very easy to use. Truth was, I had been a shopper there before but I didn’t know it. I came out of the deal with $415 profit, counting the breakfast.

That money did me a lot of good; I try not to think about what the gun did.

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