Yellow Mama Archives II

M. J. Holt

Acuff, Gale
Ahern, Edward
Allen, R. A.
Alleyne, Chris
Andes, Tom
Arnold, Sandra
Aronoff, Mikki
Ayers, Tony
Baber, Bill
Baird, Meg
Baker, J. D.
Balaz, Joe
Barker, Adelaide
Barker, Tom
Barnett, Brian
Barry, Tina
Bartlett, Daniel C.
Bates, Greta T.
Bayly, Karen
Beckman, Paul
Bellani, Arnaav
Berriozabal, Luis Cuauhtemoc
Beveridge, Robert
Blakey, James
Booth, Brenton
Bracken, Michael
Burke, Wayne F.
Burnwell, Otto
Campbell, J. J.
Cancel, Charlie
Capshaw, Ron
Carr, Steve
Carrabis, Joseph
Cartwright, Steve
Centorbi, David Calogero
Cherches, Peter
Christensen, Jan
Clifton, Gary
Cody, Bethany
Costello, Bruce
Coverly, Harris
Crist, Kenneth James
Cumming, Scott
Davie, Andrew
Davis, Michael D.
Degani, Gay
De Neve, M. A.
Dillon, John J.
Dinsmoor, Robert
Dominguez, Diana
Dorman, Roy
Doughty, Brandon
Doyle, John
Dunham, T. Fox
Ebel, Pamela
Fagan, Brian Peter
Fillion, Tom
Fortier, M. L.
Fowler, Michael
Galef, David
Garnet, George
Garrett, Jack
Graysol, Jacob
Grech, Amy
Greenberg, KJ Hannah
Grey, John
Hagerty, David
Hardin, Scott
Held, Shari
Hicks, Darryl
Hivner, Christopher
Hoerner, Keith
Hohmann, Kurt
Holt, M. J.
Holtzman, Bernard
Holtzman, Bernice
Holtzman, Rebecca
Hopson, Kevin
Hubbs, Damon
Irwin, Daniel S.
Jabaut, Mark
Jermin, Wayne
Jeschonek, Robert
Johns. Roger
Kanner, Mike
Karl, Frank S.
Kempe, Lucinda
Kennedy, Cecilia
Keshigian, Michael
Kirchner, Craig
Kitcher, William
Kompany, James
Kondek, Charlie
Koperwas, Tom
Kreuiter, Victor
Larsen, Ted R.
Le Due, Richard
Leotta, Joan
Lester, Louella
Lubaczewski, Paul
Lucas, Gregory E.
Luer, Ken
Lukas, Anthony
Lyon, Hillary
Mannone, John C.
Margel, Abe
Martinez, Richard
McConnell, Logan
McQuiston, Rick
Middleton, Bradford
Milam, Chris
Miller, Dawn L. C.
Mladinic, Peter
Mobili, Juan
Mullins, Ian
Myers, Beverle Graves
Myers, Jen
Newell, Ben
Nielsen, Ayaz Daryl
Nielsen, Judith
Onken, Bernard
Owen, Deidre J.
Park, Jon
Parker, Becky
Pettus, Robert
Plath, Rob
Potter, John R. C.
Prusky, Steve
Radcliffe, Paul
Reddick, Niles M.
Reedman, Maree
Reutter, G. Emil
Riekki, Ron
Robson, Merrilee
Rockwood, KM
Rollins, Janna
Rose, Brad
Rosmus, Cindy
Ross, Gary Earl
Rowland, C. A.
Saier, Monique
Sarkar, Partha
Scharhag, Lauren
Schauber, Karen
Schildgen, Bob
Schmitt, Di
Sesling, Zvi E.
Short, John
Simpson, Henry
Slota, Richelle Lee
Smith, Elena E.
Snell, Cheryl
Snethen, Daniel G.
Steven, Michael
Stoler, Cathi
Stoll, Don
Surkiewicz, Joe
Swartz, Justin
Taylor, J. M.
Temples. Phillip
Tobin, Tim
Traverso Jr., Dionisio "Don"
Turner, Lamont A.
Tustin, John
Tyrer, DJ
Varghese, Davis
Verlaine, Rp
Viola, Saira
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Al Wassif, Amirah
Weibezahl, Robert
Weil, Lester L.
Weisfeld, Victoria
Weld, Charles
White, Robb
Wilhide, Zachary
Williams, E. E.
Williams, K. A.
Wilsky, Jim
Wiseman-Rose, Sophia
Woods, Jonathan
Young, Mark
Zackel, Fred
Zelvin, Elizabeth
Zeigler, Martin
Zimmerman, Thomas
Zumpe, Lee Clark

Blackout Blonde

By M.J. Holt

She was the type of girl who made his pants tight. He could feel his blood heat and he knew what he wanted. Life was simple: office drone by day and hunter at night. He worked out every day in the gym. It took time, but it was worth it because he could dead lift a hundred and forty pounds easily. Most girls he liked never topped one-twenty-five. He thought about the girl from the night before. She was just a memory of the fun.

He stood tall, good-looking in a rugged way, he bought good manicures, haircuts, and body waxing. No stray pubic hair would bring him down.

He ordered a light beer because he needed something in his hand as he approached her. She had wheat-colored blonde hair that curled around her face with bangs covering her eyebrows. He liked well-groomed blondes. She was right-handed so he approached her right side so that arm would be close to him to help control her. She was standing at the side of the room watching a basketball game, obviously unattached to any of the other people there.

He bumped into her. His beer sloshed a little bit. “Sorry,” he said quickly and turned to watch the game. No one else noticed. A break between quarters inspired the men behind him to go to the bar and he took advantage to act jostled and bumped her again.

“Sorry. I keep saying that. Sorry.” He smiled in a practiced way that never looked predatory. “Not the best game for the home team, five baskets behind."

She smiled back. “Last quarter. They aren’t going to pull it out. The other team sticks to their men like they planned it all. Guess the home team needs to mix it up. They’re predictable.”

He made small talk. She said she had an early meeting. She isn’t going to make it, he promised himself.

She asked a few questions and his answers told her he was the guy. They moved to a bar table that freed their hands. She ordered a light beer mimicking him.

They watched the fourth quarter. With six minutes left on the clock, and now six baskets behind, the coach put in a new guard.

“See that new guard” the woman said. “The coach hates him, and he knows it. Watch him. He’ll stick tight to the guy he’s guarding, for a while.”

The players danced around the court. The other team played catch to move the ball down the court to their basket. The guard she had pointed out moved an arm’s length away from his man, who then looked open. The ball went his way but the guard grabbed it mid-air, bounced it once, and made a basket.

She said, “He was supposed to throw it to the forward, that’s how this team works. That’s why they’re losing. Predictable.”

He smiled his sweetest smile and said, “You know basketball.”

“Sort of. It’s fun to analyze groups.”

“Groups,” he repeated. “I don’t work that way. I have my goal, do it, and get another.”

She smiled at him and went back to watching the game. The new guard made two more baskets. The clock was running out. The man chuckled quietly about a girl thinking that she knew what could happen next. Maybe she knew basketball, but a new game was coming her way. While she watched the game, he added a few drops of his secret formula to her beer.

Game over, an empty glass sat on the table. She complained of a headache. “I live near here. I think I better get home.”

“I’ll walk you home. I need to catch a lift so I’ll call at your building.”

Her head lolled on his shoulder by the time they got to her place. He took the key from her hand, guided her up the stairs, and into the apartment she lurched at.

He helped her to the couch. He took off her jacket, then her shoes. She didn’t object when he took off her clothes. Her arm fell behind the couch cushions. He took off his clothes. He was getting into position when he felt a jab. First his hands and feet tingled. Then his head felt like it would float away. He didn’t care about the pain in his chest and he fell to the floor.

She looked down at him and said, “I didn’t drink the beer, asshole.”

She watched his last breaths as she dressed. She picked up his clothes and laid them on the bed. With the cuff of his shirt, she wiped the keys and tossed them on the bed. She checked the couch. She put the top on the needle, wiped it all with a tissue, and dropped it into the purse. She put her jacket on shiny side out, pulled on her gloves, and left. The next floor down, she pulled off the wig and stuffed it into the purse. She mussed her short black hair and applied white powder to her face then slid the compact back into her jacket. She turned up her collar to hide her jawline.

Walking down the street, she touched an app on her phone to report. “The Point Guard’s plan was perfect. The ball was there. The Power Forward made the winning score.”

She had walked blocks when the phone chimed. “Drop it,” read the message. She dropped the purse for the next woman and kept walking. In this organization, no one knew each other. God bless the dark web, she thought. She removed the dollar SIM card, broke it into four tiny pieces. She put her own SIM into the phone. We’re still hundreds of points behind, she thought.

The End

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