Card

Pearl covered her license plate (risky, but less so when you were only working a small residential area) and pulled the hood down over her face. She killed the lights and coasted into a shadowy spot near her target destination. Moving as swiftly as her years would allow, she expertly navigated side yards and strips of grass between driveways; to date, Pearl had never been captured on surveillance video (and she was proud of that). One card, two cards, on and on until eleven cards had been delivered. "Sorry to have missed you; no worries, though, as I'm sure I'll see you soon!" All of the postcards were signed "Karma". The gloves were hot, but these little hummers were glossy on one side and needed to remain fingerprint-free. The recipients would find them in the morning, frantically check their cameras (to no avail), and all of their shenanigans would rush to the front of their brain pans (as it should be). "May it be your last DUI, identity theft, domestic mayhem, etc.," Pearl whispered, "or else." In her entire career as Karma Card, she had only been forced to mete out punishment a handful of times (swift and memorable to both parties, but painful only to the one); she wanted to retire without a fatality, but had to stay open to what came.