The Evil Man
by Jess Scott
"I'm a lawyer," the man said first.
He looked a typical one--expensive suit, fine leather attorney's briefcase, polished shoes. You'd smell the shoe shine if you sniffed hard enough.
The air stewardess didn't mind him at first. She thought he was presentable and attractive. Suave. Dignified, perhaps--a lawyer with integrity who was passionate in upholding justice!
But, he was going to have a bad day...
First: he would get caught in the morning rush-hour traffic.
It'd be exceptionally horrific, due to a crash site at the cross junction before the city expressway. He would be squirming in his seat and making forty frantic phonecalls because he'd be running late for a high-profile court case.
Then it would start to rain, and it would continue raining.
When he did finally get to the courthouse, he'd have to step out and make a dash up the concrete stairs. He'd have forgotten his trusty umbrella, and his outfit would be sopping wet. Maybe he'd even drop his suitcase into a puddle of water in the commotion. Maybe he'd trip and crash headfirst onto the concrete. He'd look pathetic, like a disheveled yuppie-wannabe.
He'd be in a panic--
*"OUT OF MY WAY!"*
--he'd yell at the throng of reporters and busybodies milling about.
That would tarnish his image as the good-looking, calm, impeccable Agreeable One who never lost his cool at the media, unlike the standard others who'd show them the back of a hand to talk to, or simply turn their noses in another direction.
Who knows what would happen then?
Maybe: his secretary had gone on leave, with no replacement. Even though she'd informed him about it a month in advance at least.
Maybe: he'd only then realize that he didn't have his all-important documents with him. What he'd burned the entire previous night for would have amounted to nothing, at this crucial time.
Maybe this time: he'd be in a situation he wouldn't be able to smooth-operate his way through. He'd played enough of his cards and would finally have to face what he had coming...
*The evil man.*
He probably deserved all of it anyway. Beneath that laudable exterior was nothing but a sleazy, mannerless brute.
The air stewardess smoothed a crinkle on her blouse. She'd been standing long enough.
Any longer and she'd be drenched in exhaust fumes and dust from the road. Not good for the fussy whining passengers on flight.
It did look like it was about to rain. This was looking like a bad day for her...
She spotted a Mercedes cab coming.
*Please stop for me, please stop for me.*
Those were luxury cabs, and she'd be lucky to get one at this time.
She stretched out a lithe arm to flag the taxi.
The driver slowed down--yes! She thought up a word of thanks to her lucky stars. She had get to the airport--now!
"Need help with that?"
The stewardess smiled sweetly.
"Yes, thank you."
The driver stepped out--he was tall and wearing a crisp white shirt. So was the lawyer. The stewardess liked that on men.
The driver helped her with her suitcase, placing it in the boot.
Ah...she could relax at last.
The air-conditioning and freshener in the cab was cooling. The stewardess thought about the evil man a little more:
how she had been waiting for a cab for at least 15 minutes, and the self-said "lawyer" had popped out from nowhere, indicating that he was very busy and in a rush (who wasn't?), and snatched the empty cab that WOULD have stopped for her, were she given her rightful chance.
He even had the cheek to smile at her as the taxi sped off.
*Men*, she snarled. Mentally.
She took out her compact purse and touched up her lip liner.
Oh, and she'd need to touch up the mascara and dab on a few more spots of perfume too.
There was still time, yet.
Jess C Scott is currently working on an erotic short story collection. She runs a website collective, which can be found at Jess Scott. Work has appeared (or is shortly to appear) in Yareah, an English-Spanish literary and arts magazine, 55 Words, Clean Sheets, FlashShot, Blink Fiction, Bare Back Magazine, AlienSkin Magazine, Every Day Poets, UnMasked Online, Mirror Dance, and Word Riot.