The cavernous department store was dark and nearly empty. The last customer left hours ago, the last employee sometime shortly thereafter.
But not Javier, the lone holdout. He found the quiet somewhat eerie but oddly comforting. Clocking those overtime hours didn’t hurt either.
Javier stood in front of the mannequin. He tightened her belt a notch, but something still looked off.
Then he noticed it – the left pocket needed to be smoothed out. The designer stepped close and reached into the mannequin’s pant pocket.
Suddenly, a hand tightened around his wrist, cold and unyielding.
Javier barely had time to scream.
The Weekday One Hundred 