This week I have a tiny short that hints at something I will call Red Letters Lore. There is always a first time, or the original idea takes root and we see it later, in bigger fashion in the legendary tales told. I am not sharing the first time just yet, because it’s better in the book then I can reveal the cut scene here.

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“Hey Bebe?”

The female bouncer in all black turned at her name.

“Do you mind if I talk to you? I’ve seen you around with Nira, and you guys do wild stuff for each other. Can you help me with a one month anniversary gift?”

A waitress at the club waited for the bouncer to show interest.

Bebe, who was short like the main trouble ladies, but had reflexes like a cat and a steady gym wear look, moved closer. She ushered the waitress to a table, as if it was an office and this was suddenly office hours.

“What kind of gift are you looking for? Because soft and romantic is Tweety’s thing. And if you’re choosing something random, that’s me doing whatever I want. I don’t even know what I’ll want to do until it happens. When is this anniversary?”

The waitress popped a hip and put a hand on it before she sat down. “In a week, and I have all the normal stuff. That cook of mine likes my sass, and either this keeps us together, or I know it’s not worth the effort to be weird.”

She sat down in a huff, and Bebe signaled with a roll of her hand that there were still questions unanswered.

“I don’t know what gift I want, just something memorable. If it comes with pink bows and Caribbean rum, that’s my cherry on top.”

Bebe looked around, thinking slowly. “And you said the cook? The one that makes pies?”

The waitress nodded, and Tweety ushered people by to another table. “Man, cake sounds good. I can suggest what to drink to celebrate with.”

In a beat, the people were gone, and Bebe smirked. “Are you two willing to put on a show for the crowds? Or do I wait until later in the night when there’s less witnesses for this?”

“You have an idea then?” The waitress perked up, “Not packed, but it doesn’t have to be dead either, you know that bedtime lull? That’s probably fine. He usually comes out to see me for a while.”

“Oh he’ll be out soon? Perfect. Friday or Saturday night. That’s all the warning you get.”

Bebe got up from the table, and headed behind the bar. She dug around to find a sharpie, and waited for the cook to come out from the kitchen. 

When he finally did, without warning, she grabbed his arm. Pulling up his sleeve, she marked it with the number 1. 

Bebe’s first victim. 

“I’ll see you soon, loverboy.”