April Foolishness: Just When You Think You’ve Got it All Figured Out

Hands pound away on the keys of the Olivetti Valentine typerwriter, with the practiced cadence of a skilled typist. Even the modern computer keyboardist cannot compete with the old-time operators, well-versed in exactly the pressure required to tamp down each weighted key, clacking away just fast enough to get each word out — without tangling the keys up in his or her haste.

Most secretaries are, statistically speaking, female.

But perhaps this assumption, too, is a trap.

The hands are deliberately free from distinguishing characteristics. There is no polish on the neatly-clipped nails. There is no mid-digital hair, suggesting a wooly male. The fingers are thin, but not too thin; short, but not too short. The flesh is pale, suggesting a lack of sunshine and outdoors(wo)manship.

Nothing screams “male” or “female” about the hands that continue to operate the bright red typewriter.

Except, perhaps, for the mole near the first knuckle on the right hand. It might be dismissed by some as a freckle, but the typist knows it’s a mole.

The typist clatters onward, working quickly but without haste. The one-page letter is almost finished. It will fetch a handsome price.

The subject has been dictated by a wealthy benefactor. The letter itself is of no importance to the typist. He or she merely types what he or she is told to type. The typist is tasked with these kinds of services about once a month. He or she never asks questions, simply types the content, slips it into an envelope, and places it into the nearest mailbox with one stamp, addressed to a P.O. box in town.

Los Angeles is a pretty big town.

The typist has occasionally considered locating this P.O. box and staking it out, to see who picks up the mail. But the typist also assumes that anyone picking up the mail would be a hired gun as well.

The large payment received for this typing job also buys the typist’s secrecy. Or, anyway, that’s what s/he assumes.

The typist has been hired based on the make and model of his or her typewriter. An ad placed on Craigslist… A response… A correspondence to prove the typewriter’s authenticity… A sizable check, and the typist was hired.

Simple.

But nothing is ever simple, is it?

The typist’s curiosity is getting the better of him or her. Something’s got to give.

The typist is about to spring a trap.

The asterisk key will leave its mark.

And regardless of who might be picking up the mail, they’re gaining a tail.

The plot thickens, thanks to the typist’s attention to detail.

Don’t miss a single story!

Follow along with my April Foolishness series of stories (in alphabetical order, of course) by checking here for previous posts, or sign up for my mailing list to get an entire week’s worth of stories sent to you all in one weekly update.

The post April Foolishness: Just When You Think You’ve Got it All Figured Out appeared first on Buttontapper Press.