Saints and Sinners-Part 1

Note: There is a murder, and the protagonist is a psychopath. But don't worry; once you get over the fact that she killed someone, is utterly remorseless, and has no emotions whatsoever, you'll find that she's very likable.

Bobbin walked into the cafe, a pleasant smile on her face. There were a few people at the tables, and they all looked up when she walked in-like they were puppets and she had pulled their strings, Bobbin thought. This was a fitting metaphor, for describing her as a puppetmaster was not far from the truth. There wasn’t anything particularly special about Bobbin; black coat, jeans, slender glasses….but her ramrod straight posture and confident gaze drew attention like a moth to a flame.

Bobbin smiled, relishing the attention. With measured steps, she made her way to the counter. Behind it was a young man with sandy blond hair that flopped over his forehead as he bent over his phone. Seeing him, Bobbin felt a sharp stab of irritation. Sloppy hairstyle, she thought. And you’d think that if he was working, he’d put away his phone. Clearly, the employer had made a mistake.

Bobbin glanced around but there was no other staff in the cafe; Bobbin assumed that either the barista was the only one on the shift or that the staff were in the back of the cafe actually doing work.

She cleared her throat. No response. She tapped on the counter. No response. She hummed a little from “Queen of Mean”, one of her favorite songs. Still no response.

Bobbin glanced at the clock and scowled. It was 8:50, and she had places to be. The others wouldn’t complain, of course, but she had to set a good example.

Finally, she reached the edge of what meager patience she had, so she did what any normal person would do: she pulled out a gun from her pocket and shot the barista.

The bang echoed in the small space and the customers jumped. When they saw Bobbin with the gun, one of them screamed and flung their hands over their face, as if flesh and bone could stop her bullets. One of them tried to dial 911, but Bobbin pointed her gun at them and they raised their hands, letting their phone clatter to the floor.

The cafe was silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing, crying (from a little girl in the corner), and Nickelback from a speaker on the counter. Slowly, Bobbin turned her gun toward the speaker and shot it, halting the music. There was a collective sigh of relief.

When Bobbin finally spoke, her voice was calm but dangerously low. “I won’t hurt any of you, but snitch to the authorities and I will.” She lowered the gun and put it back in her pocket, making sure it was hidden from view. “You never saw me, understood? Make up whatever alibi you like, but I was never here.”

Everyone nodded vigorously, but one girl-the crying one-raised her hand. “Yes?” Bobbin asked, pleased at the scared expression on her face.

“W-What about the man?”

“Oh, him.” Bobbin glanced toward the barista. He was sprawled on the floor, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “My secretary will take care of it.”

The girl frowned and started to say something, but the adult next to her whispered something and she fell silent. Bobbin, still looking at the body, noticed a glimmer of light near it. His phone.

She hopped over the counter, leaned down, and picked it up, examining its sleek edges. Brand-new, and the latest model too.

Bobbin already had this exact phone-she only got the best equipment-but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. An idea occurred to her. “What’s the date?” she asked, gaze focused on the phone.

“February 6th.” someone said timidly. Perfect.

“Alright. Well, thank you for this lovely encounter, but I have things to do. Catch you later!” Bobbin, restored to her usual good cheer, strolled toward the door.

“I’d rather not.” someone behind her muttered. It was quiet, but Bobbin had good ears. In one swift motion, she pulled out her gun, flipped it upside down, and fired behind her.

She heard a bang, a scream, and several thumps as the customers scrambled to get away from the mental lady with a gun. She couldn't tell if she hit her target, and she didn’t particularly care. With a grin on her face, she pushed open the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Outside, it was a winter wonderland, calm and peaceful. No one had noticed the recent death.

Stomping her boots to get the snow off (an impossible task in New England), she took out the barista’s phone and dialed Robert’s number. He immediately picked up-he knew his twin sister well enough to know that any random number was probably her-and blew out a long sigh. “It’s only been an hour,” he said. “And you’ve already killed someone.”

Bobbin shrugged and grinned, slipping into their familiar rhythm. “Hey, I wanted to tell you,” she said, pouting. “Can I tell you?”

Robert sighed, but he was used to tolerating his sister’s antics. It was his job, literally. “What happened, Bobbin?” he asked, employing a cartoonish voice that gave the illusion of happiness.

“Oh, you’ll never believe it, brother.” Bobbin cried. “Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?” She knew the answer, but she still loved to hear it coming from Robert.

“The bad news.” he said. “Good news is never really that good.”

Bobbin smiled. “I killed someone and shot someone, and an entire cafe saw it. But the good news” she rummaged in her coat before remembering that she was holding it “is that I got Delilah’s birthday present out of it.” She paused for dramatic effect. “It’s an iPhone 16. Brand-spanking-new.”

For a moment, the line was silent, and Bobbin waited to see how Robert would take the news. Finally, his voice crackled out of the phone.

“Fine, fine. You got me.” Robert sighed. “You have a better birthday present for Delilah.”

Bobbin grinned, and Robert added, “But don’t get too excited. I’ll win next time.”

A smile spread across Bobbin’s face as she began to walk home. “Just you wait, Bobby.” she said, knowing he hated being called Bobby. “For Tom, I’ll buy an entire fricking Lamborghini.”

Robert cracked a rare smile. “I’m fine with that, ‘long as it doesn’t play Nickelback.”

“That, my friend, is the one thing we can agree on.”