This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine

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Turncoat

Gregory Liffick

    There were not many coat check girl jobs left in the city. Margaret got her position at a gentleman’s club downtown. Not the strip club variety, but the old, conservative men with money type. The building was over a hundred years old and looked it, in terms of architecture and interior design. The place had a musty odor on the inside and the few members who survived were decrepit and smelled like their coats were washed in mothballs.
    There were advantages to her job. Because she didn’t have much to do, it gave her time to study. She was trying to become a nurse, and had taken the job a month earlier to supplement her student loans. Also, most of the members liked to flirt with her, in their ancient ways, and usually tipped her pretty well. Especially, one member, named Devon Lang. He sometimes tipped Margaret twenty dollars for just hanging up his coat and scarf. He flirted more than all of the other members. But Margaret didn’t mind. He was rather distinguished looking, well dressed, and seemed younger than the other members, although he was probably just as old or older than they were. He smiled nicely and had nice manners, something most of Margaret’s twenty-something boyfriends lacked.
    It was Monday and very slow. Margaret had finished her studying and was just sitting on her stool at her window staring into space. She was dying for some distraction or excitement. Just at that moment, Devon Lang stepped up to her window. Something about his demeanor perked Margaret up. He seemed like he was in a good mood, on top of the world for some reason. He did not give her his coat, just standing at her window smiling and almost winking at her.
    After a long, silent pause, she could not help herself and asked him, “What is it, Mr. Lang? You look like the cat that ate the bird.”
    “I’ve got a big deal working today,” he grinned.
    Margaret was surprised that he was still in business, or working. She assumed that all of the members were retired, including Devon Lang, based on their ages. “A big deal? What?” she asked. “What kind of business are you in?”
    “Can’t really say,” he said. “Very hush, hush,” he added, putting his finger to his lips, playfully, in the hush sign.
    “Come on,” Margaret almost pleaded. “Tell me. I’m so bored today. I love secrets.”
    He thought for a moment, keeping Margaret in suspense. “You really want to know?” he teased.
    “Yes, yes,” she smiled, a little giddy. “Tell me what your big deal is. Please.”
    “Okay, okay,” he finally gave in. “I’ll tell you what my big deal is...”
    “Yes, yes, tell me,” Margaret anticipated. During the beat before he told her, out of the corner of her eye she noticed the other members hovering nearby, seemingly from out of the woodwork, looking on. “That’s odd,” she thought for an instant, absently, caught up in hearing Devon Lang’s big deal.
    “My big deal, my dear...” the words hung on his lips, his face abruptly appearing very scary and dark. “My big deal is...you.”
    Before Margaret could react, laughing or screaming, Devon Lang opened his coat and she was sucked through the window and into a dark abyss seeming to emerge from the core of his body. He gave a sigh of ecstasy as Margaret disappeared into him. The other members stood in frozen, also ecstatic postures, drawing energy from a split second wave of light that flashed from his body. As the light ebbed, Devon Lang closed his coat and all went back to their strange, regular business.
    By the next day, the club had another coat check girl. Also young and vital.

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