Cafe Banshee
By Andy Wolverton

I leered out the cafe window searching for a glimmer of hope in the daily cattle show trouncing by when she slipped up to my table - a towering blonde wearing a full-length black leather coat above shimmering black boots that reached up to God knows where. Her thick scarf Ð also black Ð must've been a mile long, wrapped several times around her neck before it flowed over her breasts and extended nearly to the floor. Platinum colored hair shaped her oval face and pointed to a mouth that looked like it could wrestle a slab of beef from an alligator. I'd never seen anything like her in Annapolis.

She placed her coffee on my table like it was a chess piece. "You don't mind, do you?" she said. Her voice was restrained but intense, like she could make herself heard three blocks away without half trying.

I roamed her body with my eyes. Or tried to. Damn scarf. I winked. "Think I'd like that."

In a single motion, she took off her coat and draped it over the chair. The scarf stayed on, flaring out over her front so I still couldn't see the goods. She sat and nodded toward the window.

"What do you see when you look out that window?" she asked. "Something to devour?"

Forward. I like that.

I leaned back in my chair. "I look for something dangerous, exotic, maybe a little twisted. Never saw you in here before. I'm a regular."

"A regular what?"

I chuckled. "A regular customer." I wanted to see what was under that scarf. Why'd she have it wrapped around her so many times? Wasn't that cold. Thing was big enough to cover my BMW.

She picked up her coffee. Steam rushed out of the little hole in the lid. She pursed her lips, blew over the top, and a skinny line of vapor vanished.

"What line of work are you in?" she asked.

"Computers."

"Figures," she said, nodding. She caught me staring at the scarf.

"And you?" I said. "What do you do?"

She stared. "That's good. Most guys would ask if I'd like to remove my scarf. I know you're thinking about it. But it wouldn't be a good idea right now."

The more she talked the freakier she sounded. And the hotter I got. "So what do you do?" I repeated.

She took a long drink from her cup and didn't blink. "Do you consider yourself different from everybody else?"

"Never thought about it much."

"Oh, I'll bet you have."

This one was gonna make me work for it. I didn't mind. I'd make her work later.

"You ever drive or walk someplace familiar, maybe go out on the bay and wonder what it would be like if you just dropped everything, went somewhere else and started over?" she said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean do you ever think about going down a different path? Changing the way you live? The way you think?"

Here it comes. A pitch for some wacko cult.

"Why would I want to do that?"

A pair of black leather shoulders leaned forward. "Because it's pathetic to spend your days ogling out the window of the Nautical Coffee House looking for the catch of the day. Not to mention odious."

"You've been watching me." I smiled.

She blew her lips apart. "Don't flatter yourself. This is work, I don't enjoy it."

"What type of work do you mean?" How long had she been watching me? She must know someone I know.

"I'm required to help you, if I can...which I'm beginning to doubt at this point. Just what are you looking for?"

"What do you mean, what am I looking for?"

"I mean your next conquest, what's she like? You normally go through several women in a year's time. Four so far this year, I believe."

Who was this chick? Somebody'd paid her to follow me. Alicia, I'll bet. That pregnancy scare. No, maybe Barbara.

"I think your normal pattern is coffee, dinner at some second-rate seafood joint, quick sex, a promise to call and then desertion. Am I correct?"

"Look, Scarf Bitch, who are you working for?"

"Good women everywhere." She glared at me like I was a waiter who lived only to serve her another drink.

"Where I come from, we give warnings to men like you. You enjoy what you do, hurting women, lying to them, using them. Don't deny it. But you'd better wise up. Consider my presence here a clarion call, like your two-minute warning in football. Sort of a public service announcement where I come from."

"Where's that?" I sneered. "Jersey?"

"Ireland."

"Bull. You don't have an accent."

"Believe what you want. You straighten up, you'll never see me or hear from me again. You can think I'm a ghost, an avenging angel, the Loch Ness Monster or anything else you like. But if you hurt another woman..."

Then something weird happened. She loosened her scarf and opened her mouth wide. No sounds came out, but I could feel the rush of something scrambling, longing to wail from her throat and rip apart mine. She closed her mouth and replaced the scarf. "You won't see me, but you'll hear me keening. And that'll be all I need."

She stood, put on her coat and opened the front door. The way the sun caught her face, I could swear her eyes glowed red. The wind whipped the ends of her scarf and the fringed edges jumped forward like snakes.

Then she left. I sat staring out the cafe window until I lost sight of her. I told myself to look up "keening" when I got home, but I forgot all about it. I was distracted by the luscious chesty brunette walking into the cafe.