Ghosts of Niagara
by Regan Wolfrom
Copyright © Regan Wolfrom 2012
Sometimes you have to beat down any whisper of common sense. You just need to smack it down until it can’t crawl back up. Otherwise you won’t be any use. That’s what I had to do. It was my job to stand in the supermarket parking lot, waiting to meet a man who might try to kill me.
I didn’t have to wait for long. I watched him walking over from the north, about as conspicuous as a person could be, glancing around like he thought he was being watched.
I guess he was right. There was a girl in the parking lot watching him; I was watching him act like a complete idiot.
“Michael,” I said as he got close enough to hear. “It’s great to see you again.”
He was taller and fitter than I thought he’d be. I don’t know why, but I thought he’d be short and fat and older.
I guess I’d been hoping he’d be easy enough for me to push around if I had to. I have the physique of a figure skater, not a female bodybuilder.
“Hello there,” he said, about as awkwardly as he could get. He looked me over and smiled.
He was wearing a green button-down shirt and puke-brown dress pants, and he was carrying a large navy blue backpack. He wasn’t dressed for climbing and he definitely wasn’t dressed for the cold.