John: The Senior Killer

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“Candice, I declare this is the finest afghan I’ve ever seen,” a perfect voice for an old lady was heard.

“Oh go on with you. That old thing. I made it twenty years ago when my dear husband felt the chill upon him,” she replied in a likewise creaky voice of her eighty plus years.

“I know dear,” as she fingered the material, “but such design and color.”

“I’m glad you like it and I would like to give it to you for a present.”

“No, I couldn't accept such a fine gift and it was your husbands. I don’t want to take something you can remember him by,” she said with an eye on his victim.

He was dressed like an old woman. A perfect disguise as it was his profession. Now he had his sights on ending Candice’s life. She was too old and time for her to move on. Under his long dress in a special holster on one leg, a Marlin spike lay ready to end her life. On the other leg a hammer in another holster waited for use against the head of the Marlin spike. Now it was time to put it to use.

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