About the Author: R.S. Morgan has been publishing fiction and non-fiction nationally since 1983. His short stories have been published in MIKE SHAYNE MYSTERY MAGAZINE, BUFFALO SPREE and ARTVOICE. His fiction has also won the AFL-CIO LABOR-IN-LITERATURE AWARD and the JUST BUFFALO WESTERN NEW YORK WRITERS IN RESIDENCE COMPETITION. As for non-fiction, his feature articles have appeared in RAZOR and SKIING and his shorter articles have been published in the BUFFALO NEWS.
“I want to kill my sugar daddy,” the witch said to me.
We were in bed. Mellissa’s cheek was on my chest. Her unsmiling eyes were locked on my eyes. Her lethal pillow talk hadn’t surprised me. On our previous date, she had pressed her glistening lips against my ear and whispered, “I wish Angelo was dead.” Yet wishing her sugar daddy was dead was one desire. Killing him was another. I should have removed her cheek from my chest and rolled out of bed and walked out the door.
Instead, I asked, “Why?”
“Because he has five hundred thousand in cash at the house.”
I widened my eyes at the $500,000. But I didn’t ask any questions. At least that night. Curiosity and cats and all of that.
We met at a psychic fair the local casino was sponsoring in its lobby. I waited until she was done flipping Tarot cards for a slot-machine housewife who looked like she could use some future good news, then I stood in front of her table.
“How’s my future look?”
“Grim,” she said to the Tarot cards still spread in front of her.
“Maybe you are a psychic,” I said, then after a pause, after waiting for a response and realizing it wasn’t coming, I added, “I’ve seen you before.”