Stress Relief

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

“Not the sky blue, the teal” Susan Anthon snapped. This was what, the fifth time that an artist had mistaken colors today? What was going on downstairs she wondered, waving the young woman out of her office.

“Not an auspicious day today” her personal assistant offered, gently laying the days mail into her ‘IN’ basket. Neil Ashwood had been with Susan quite a long time. More than long enough to read her moods. “I understand that the garbage container is a sealed unit. I do doubt that any bodies would be found. If one were carful not to be seen sending them there.”

“All heart, always looking out for my health aren’t you Neil” Susan laughed. “My problem’s aren’t going to be cleared up by losing a handful of air headed artists who can’t read the writing on their own crayons. This selection has to be ready for runway display in three weeks. If we can’t get the colors right by tomorrow, it’ll never be done in time.”

“Perhaps” Neil agreed. “Yet you always do seem to make every deadline. What if you took a break. Left early. Certainly a few hours can’t be that critical, can they?”

Susan nodded, rubbing her eyes with one manicured hand. “Your probably right. I’ve been at this too long. Have my car brought around. I’ll leave the rest of the day to Ruth. She’s more than competent enough.”

Neil smiled as he backed away. His employer might be one of the most powerful women in the fashion world, yet in his opinion she worked much too hard. Whatever it was she did when away from his nearly constant presence, he made a point never to inquire. Each morning she returned fresh, calm and ready for work. In his opinion, whatever she did was none of his business.

During her ride home Susan slowly allowed the days frustrations to ease. This months frustrations had started when a buyer had ‘made a deal’ on what turned out to be several thousand dollars worth of useless, cheap fabric. That the man had been duped was obvious, that he’d tried to hide it had earned him a one way ticket out her door. She’d dumped the material on a local homeless workshop, where it would be put to good use. A tax writeoff. After that... After that everything seemed to be working against her plans. “What I need to do is kick some serious tail” she whispered to herself.

Several hours, a long bath and sensible meal later left Susan feeling much better. Outside her home skies were darkening as night approached. It was almost time for Susan Anthon to vanish, for Irony to appear. Taking her costume from its hiding place, she began the long task of putting it on. Designed by her own hand, created with today’s best fabrics, it was both very form fitting and extremely durable. That it showed off her body didn’t bother her. After all, when your fighting crime, anything that could distract your opponent was fair game. Slipping on her boots she zipped them up. Irony was back.

Two Toed Baxter slipped behind a shattered crate, watching as another police car drifted by. He’d probably hit the old man too hard, but that social security check was worth it. He’d only get a dime to the dollar sure, that was more than enough for a fix, a bottle and maybe even a meal. There was simply no way any police officer would find him. Not in these allies. He’d grown up here, he knew them better than anyone probably. Relaxing he opened his victims wallet.

“Interesting” a female voice noted, causing Two Toe to spin around somewhat ungracefully. “A man with two wallets. Could both be his? I certainly doubt that.”

“Who are you” he yelled, unafraid of any woman. Still, he couldn’t see her and there really were few hiding places other than his own. Reaching in a pocket he pulled out his knife. A bit of steel used variously as an eating utensil and tool. “Step out or I’ll cut yah.”

Irony just smiled to herself. She was ‘out’ though her target couldn’t see her. Being invisible helped a great deal. She’d been following this petty crook these last four blocks. Stepping forward she swung a foot up, aiming for his knife hand. No need to chance he might be good with that blade. Bruises she could hide, a cut might scar.

Two Toe’s first indication anyone was near him came as a surprise. Something hit his hand hard enough to send the blade spinning away into darkness. Stepping back he raised his fists. A quick glance told him he hadn’t been cut, still someone had thrown something. “Come out an fight, or are yah yellow” he taunted.

His answer was the sudden appearance of Irony only a few feet away from him. “Now” she said, her voice pitched deep. “We can do this easy, where you walk out, turn yourself in and we all sleep well. Or the hard way.” Stepping forward Two Toe swung, his right hand flying through space to hit... Nothing. Caught off balance the man staggered, turning his back to Irony as he fought for balance. “Oh, the hard way” she whispered more to herself than her attacker. “I like that much better.”

Sometime later a police cruiser’s headlights picked up Two Toes body leaning against a lamp post. Battered, beaten, he was still very much alive. Hanging from a thread about his neck was the wallet he’d worked so hard to steal. Of Irony there was no trace. Even though Two Toe’s babbled on about her, neither officer took much notice. After all, Two Toe’s was not only a well known petty thief, he was also a drug addict and a drunk. No one really paid any attention to an addict’s babbling about comic book heros coming to life.