A Tidings of Magpies

Film Noir by Sherod Santos A mist had settled over everything. It was after ten, almost eleven. A smudgy lamplight overran the curbs where leaves had started to gather as well. Some young people prowling the neighborhood were afraid that nothing would happen tonight, just as nothing had happened the night before. Although it was cold, the boys wore cutoff sweatshirts, and the girls, more comfortably dressed for the weather, kept laughing at things the boys said. A car turned onto Millbrook Road, dimmed and then extinguished its lights before rolling to a stop in the leaves. When the young people passed, they banged on the hood with their fists— the boys, not the girls, though the girls were amused by this as well— and frightened the man inside. Or did they? The car door opened. The man stepped out and, as killers do in Hollywood films, slipped a hand inside his coat. And then, in a quiet, almost whisper of a voice, he said something none of them could hear, though how he said it seeme...