Free Death's Hand by S M Reine

David Nicholas’s check before going to the gym. It made her feel warm to look on his signature and recall his expression as he slashed it underneath that large number, and Elise couldn’t wait to turn those warm feelings into her half of rent for the month.
    "This check is bad," the teller announced.
    "What?" Elise had been drifting in a daydream of being able to pay off her credit card, but this announcement brought her back to reality as quickly as a blow from a hammer.
    "This check is bad," he repeated slowly, one word at a time. "There's a twelve dollar fine for attempting to cash a bad check. If you go down to the office of the--"
    "How the hell is it bad?"
    He typed at his terminal, looking bored. "This account number belongs to our bank, but it's been closed for a year. No money. Bad check. Twelve dollar fine. Understand?”
    Elise made two mental notes: Firstly, that she should use a credit union instead of a bank apparently staffed by pure evil, and secondly, that David Nicholas was going to die.
    He shredded the check as Elise watched.
    “Have a nice day,” said the teller with a big smile.
     
     
    The thing Betty loved the most about the gym was the fitness. The sweaty, occasionally shirtless, fitness. She could have watched men lifting weights for days without laying so much as a finger on a rowing machine.
    With Elise as her personal trainer, though, she wasn’t allowed time to sit around and enjoy the scenery—she was too busy loading barbells and racking weights and insisting that Betty try one more rep. When Betty did occasionally talk her into getting on the exercise bikes for a long, slow pedal behind one of the nicer specimens on the treadmills, Elise seemed to think having time to ogle meant she wasn’t pushing herself hard enough.
    Betty hoped that inviting someone new along would mean getting a break. She was wrong.
    “Let’s get in the power rack,” Elise said without even looking at Ann, who showed up wearing dirt-stained sweatpants, a baggy t-shirt, and a terrified expression.
    “What about Ann? Shouldn’t she go first?” Betty asked hopefully, keeping a man with arms as thick as her waist in the corner of her vision. It looked like he was about to do squats on the Smith machine, and she had the perfect view of him from behind.
    Elise gave her a sharp look. “I’ve already got the barbell loaded for you.”
    Betty rolled her eyes at Ann.
    The plus of lifting weights was that it didn’t take long, even if it left Betty feeling like jelly. She collapsed on a weight bench after her third rep, watching as Elise effortlessly changed the weights for her own use. She didn’t look like a body builder, but the amount of weight she could shift was incredible. Men would stop what they were doing to watch her. Betty wouldn’t have minded—if the attention had been on her rather than Elise.
    Ann watched her do barbell rows with a dumbstruck look. Betty patted her shoulder. “You get used to it.”
    “I just want to walk on the treadmill,” Ann said.
    Betty laughed. “Okay. Let’s sneak off while she’s all grunting and distracted.”
    They watched the news and walked slowly, debating politics in Iran and the state of the economy. After awhile, Elise joined them, looking annoyed but making no comment. She didn’t join in their conversation, either. Betty could have smacked her. Elise was notorious for being unfriendly, but life was always a hell of a lot easier when she didn’t act like a bitch to Betty’s other friends.
    She tolerated Elise’s behavior on the treadmill, and on the elliptical trainers (which Ann decided she was done with after about five minutes), but Betty finally got tired of the silent treatment on the stationary bikes.
    “What’s wrong with you?” Betty finally asked.
    It seemed to take Elise a moment to realize that someone speaking to her. “What?”
    “What’s wrong? You’re being really quiet.”
    “It’s not a big deal.” Elise’s curly ponytail