To Keep or Kill

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The redheaded girl was a practical joker.

And a man sat quietly in the darkened window of his second-story office waiting for the sun to go down. His coat was hung over the back of the chair he sat in, the sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled at the wrist, and a cold pipe hung between his teeth.

The protesting screech of an ancient streetcar grinding to a halt at the corner half a block away came to his ears. That would be the 7:20 car, regardless of what the correct time happened to be, making its westbound run. It started up again just a short minute before the redhead walked into his line of sight. The man sitting before the window removed the pipe from his mouth and shifted his eyes to the left, curious as to who had come to Wilsey Street.

Wilsey Street was rather dark; there were only a few lighted shopwindows throwing wide splashes of illumination across the sidewalks here and there along the block.

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