A Horror Anthology

Greasy Fingerprints - @BenSobieck

"Don't trust the banks, child," Zandra says and hacks into the wet crease of her purple sleeve. Too many bus fumes on the morning walk to Sneak Peek, her business in quaint downtown Stevens Point, Wisconsin, where her "psychic" abilities talk to the dead men printed on dollar bills. Or maybe it's from the cologne plastered to the 40-something man in a fitted suit sitting across from her.

"What? I haven't even asked a question yet," the man, Zandra's latest client, says.

Zandra gives her baggy, purple gown a shake. Glittery trinkets barely hanging onto the wall chime in response, a fitting testimony to the foundation of Zandra's fraud. Always hanging by the threads of her lies. Always pulling them tighter. She must be careful, but she must also remember why people like the man opposite her are here. It's not for their benefit or hers. No, it's for the ruin of this town.

"The banks. Your money isn't safe there," Zandra says.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" the man says, awkwardly stretching his right hand in greeting.

"You booked this session under the name of Adam. No last name. Paid cash," Zandra says. "Introductions are a waste of time."

"Adam" shows his palms in surrender as if to say, "You want to impress me? Go ahead."

Zandra's seen his type before. Nine times out of 10 they're all going through the same mid-life crisis like it's some sort of club. Forty-ish. Using an assumed name. Paying cash to look impressive. Wearing cologne a generation too late for the gray chest hair scrambling toward the chin. Nice clothes. Too nice. The desperate kind that claws for attention.

They always book late afternoon appointments. Lets them leave work a little early, allowing enough time for Zandra's reading without showing up late to kiss the missus hello at home.

Or not. Why do men of Adam's age visit a psychic? They have families. Careers. Money. What else could they want? Adam, like the others, has the itch.

The "tell," which Zandra detected in their first minute together, is in how Adam hides his wedding ring. Keeps it out of sight, even when he raises his palms. He shakes with his right hand, although it's clear his left is dominant. It's also in the subtle angle of his fingers pointing away from Zandra. She spots it nonetheless.

Now it's as easy as separating the mark from his marriage, then his money.

"Draw a card, child," Zandra says. Her wrinkled hand pushes a tarot deck toward Adam.

"Don't you read palms?" Adam says. "Tarot seems silly."

Zandra doesn't blink. "You think I'm silly?"

"This was a mistake," Adam says and starts to get up.

"Sit, child. You're at a critical crossroads. If you wobble on a deck of cards, how are you going to go through with it?" Zandra says.

"It?"

"It. Draw a card."

Adam settles back in. His shaky right hand overturns the Six of Wands. Zandra gasps for show, although it represents nothing to her.

"This card means something?" Adam says.

"Listen carefully, child," Zandra says. "When you leave your marriage, your future ex-wife is going to hire the best lawyers money can buy. But she's going to spend your money to do it. If you can hide the money, she can't hire the lawyers to take away everything else. You must act now."

Adam nods in nervous agreement.

Good.

"If the money is in the bank, the lawyers will find it. Withdraw cash while you're still married, child, a little at a time," Zandra says.

"But how...?"

"Quiet," Zandra says. "It's too risky to keep the cash at home. Now, only three people know about your plans: you, me and your mistress. Can this mistress be trusted with a large amount of cash?"

"I don't know yet," Adam says.

"Then that leaves me," Zandra says.

Adam looks confused. "I'll find someone else."

"Careful now. It just so happens that your wife scheduled a reading with me for next week," Zandra says. It's a lie.

"Prove it," Adam says. "What's her name?"

"Eve," Zandra says with a smirk.

"You're funny, but that's not it," Adam says.

"No one uses their real name with me," Zandra says and rubs her palms together. "But know this. In less than five minutes I uncovered more about you than people you've known your entire life. Care to see what I can do in 10? Or a week?"

It's another lie. Zandra's "powers" hit a wall after the initial readings. Most people are like headlines. The rest is fine print too small to make out.

"I didn't come here to get blackmailed," Adam says and shuffles to his feet.

"Slip the cash in the mail slot in the front door," Zandra says, holding in a wicked laugh.

Adam slams the door as he leaves. Zandra doesn't suppose he'll actually bring the cash. Then again, if he's scared enough, he might. This is the game she plays. All of life is a wager, but she always has insurance.

Always.

Which is why she pays attention when a woman goes missing the next week. She's young, single and unemployed, yet oddly enough lived alone in a nice part of town. The police offer a reward for information that leads to an arrest.

Affairs are complicated things. Adam couldn't handle it anymore, so he made a way out. Now his mistress is dead, but I suppose his marriage survived. What a happy ending.

Zandra's not one to feel guilty about her role in this. Quite the opposite. She drags her bad ankle to the police station, where she leaves an envelope. Someone will find it eventually, along with the note Zandra wrote inside: "He did it. Leave reward $$$ @ Sneak Peek."

Next to the note is something Adam's attempt at discretion didn't consider. The greasy outlines of his fingerprints still rest on its face. It's a card. A tarot card.

The Six of Wands.