THE RAIN-MAKER

Permission to display the artwork granted by the wonderful artist Chris Larkin.
(http://www.facebook.com/ChrisLarkinArt?ref=ts&fref=ts)

REFERENCE ART FOR THE STORY:

The Rain-Maker.
By Ian Hawley

A slight mist rose from the pavement as the rain drops exploded against it and a roar filled the air, this wasn’t a regular downpour on any level, this felt more like war but Malcolm didn’t mind it, in fact he’d grown accustomed to it over the years, the late afternoon downpour could almost be planned.

Malcolm liked to plan, he liked things to be just so, a place for everything and everything in its place and he smiled to himself as he stood in the shop doorway, watching the rain dance outside. His cigarette held carefully between his fingers as he drew in the calming smoke, holding it for a moment in his lungs, letting the heat burn slightly before he released it. He used to smoke a lot, almost sixty a day if not more if he was honest with himself, but it had done him no good in the end. Now, well now he saved them for special occasions, those moments when he could stop and just enjoy the moments.

He tapped the ash into his gloved hand before taking another pull, listening as the sound of the fire burnt closer to him, the feeling of peace and harmony all wrapped up into a little role of paper and dried herbs, such a simple thing that should bring so much pleasure.

He looked at his watch. The rain would continue for another five to ten minutes yet, keeping people off the streets or at least, keep them moving quickly along, heads down as they rushed from one place to another. This was his time; his moment, and he allowed himself a little smile as he broke the end of his cigarette off and placed the filter in his pocket before flicking the still burning end into the street where it was quickly extinguished before being carried away to the drain.

With one final look back into the shop he turned the open sign round and pulled his coat up around his neck before stepping out onto the pavement, letting the door close behind him.
It was only a small walk to the bus stop, and from there he could mingle with the other unseeing people as they tried to protect themselves from the elements.

By the time they found the body, he would be gone. No trace or evidence would be found again thanks to the weather and it would be chalked up to "The Rain-maker" once more.
He quite liked the title the press had given him.
After all, he liked the rain.