The punk was terrified. “Y-y-you can’t do this, man! You can’t! You’ve got to turn me in! All the goodguys do that!”

Though he was apparently faceless, with no discernible eyes, mouth, or open nostrils, the cloaked figure spoke. “Who says I’m one of the goodguys, Buster?” He sounded cool. Not heartless-cool, but popular-cool, like a radio DJ that knows all the right things to say.

“H-h-how d-do you kn-know m-m-m-my n-n-name?” Buster stammered.

“It’s painted across the back of your jacket, punk. Not the brightest move for a mugger. Afraid that little old lady would forget your ugly face, Buster?”

Buster made a weak attempt at denial. “I was just gonna help her across the street, man! I swear!”

“At least halfway, anyway. Right?”

Buster looked back over his shoulder. “Oh God. Oh God, please. Please, man! Please don’t drop me!”

The faceless figure leaned over the ledge of the building, apparently looking down. “What’s the matter, Buster? Don’t you think the fire department will get here in time to catch you?”

“H-h-hey! Th-this isn’t funny, man! Let me down!”

“Are you sure about that, Buster?”

Buster realized what the faceless man meant, and screamed. “No! No! That’s not what I meant! That’s not what I meant! Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease! I swear, I’ll never touch another little old lady! IswearIswearIswearIswear!”

“See, Buster? I knew you could overcome that stuttering problem, with the right motivation. Now get this, punk: I ever catch you so much as kicking a dog on my streets again, I’ll make sure you pay. Do we understand each other?”

Buster looked back over his shoulder, struggling in the ropes he’d been tied with, trying to slowly pull himself in with the one that was holding him suspended halfway off the ledge. “Yes! Yes! We understand each other! We understand each other! Yes! Yesohyesohyes...”

“Good.” The faceless man turned to leave.

“Hey! Wait a minute! Aren’t you going to pull me back in? You just can’t leave me here like this!” Buster looked back over his shoulder. Morning rush hour was just beginning.

“Don’t worry, Buster. At this time of morning, someone will see you from the offices across the street soon. They’ll call someone to come get you. In the meantime, why don’t you hang out here, and think about what I told you?” The faceless man disappeared into the shadows of the roof.

Buster started trying to pull himself in, peering frantically into the shadows. “Hey! Hey! That’s not funny man! Pull me back in! Hey!”

The voice of the faceless man called from the shadows, “Buster.”

Buster stopped struggling, straining his neck forward, looking wide-eyed and hopefull into the darkness. “Yeah?”

“Don’t struggle against the rope so much. I’m not sure how old it is.”

Buster's lips puckered, and he froze perfectly still, his neck still craned forward, and still wide-eyed. His eyes flicked down at the rope, and the sweat started running off his forehead in dime sized droplets. He stood like that for another twenty-five minutes, feet poised on the edge of the ledge, and leaning outwards, before the fire department got him down. The police found a note on the other end of the rope that read:

Check his pockets. –The Face

Buster was arrested for possession of a concealed weapon and two stolen wallets. He swore he was trying to return them to the old ladies they belonged to.

.

Story and characters owned by Chris Bishop, copyright 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022.