by Sam Cheever
“I’m afraid there’s a rumor going around about Tolstoy. Some of the residents are convinced he’s the angel of death in feline form.”
“What?” Agnes objected. “That’s crazy.”
“You and I know that but...well...you have to admit since you’ve been here two people have died and Tolstoy was present in both cases.” TC shrugged. “I’m not saying I believe the rumors. I just wanted you to be aware of them.”
Agnes nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll try to keep him home more.”
“That would probably be best. At least until this all dies down.”
~SC~
Sydney Felz lived on a large piece of land twenty minutes outside of town. Though the driveway and much of the land on either side was blocked by a dented and broken wood privacy fence, Flo could tell by peering through the broken boards that the fence ended about an acre out on either side. “Not very secure if you’re trying to keep people away,” she told Agnes.
Agnes was busy perusing the chain on the gate, tugging on it to test its strength. “I could probably pick this lock if I had some tools.”
Flo felt her eyes go wide. “You know how to pick locks?”
“Not really. But I’ve seen it on TV lots of times.” She shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
Flo briefly considered walking to the end of the fence to gain access, but then she looked down at her new dove gray pumps and decided that was a bad idea. “I wonder if he has security cameras on this gate.” She lifted her gaze to the trees around them and spun in a slow circle, looking for the telltale signs of a camera.
She saw nothing blinking and the sun didn’t flash off of any glass eye-pieces.
The unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked made her jump. Flo and Agnes shared a stricken look and then Flo eased forward, peeking through the hole in the fence. She yelped as she found herself looking into a bloodshot brown eyeball.
Flo jumped back, her pulse spiking. “Heavens!”
“What do you want?”
Flo took a deep breath. “Mr. Felz?”
“That’s for me to know and you to...well it’s just for me to know.”
Agnes jammed her hand through the narrow opening between the gate and the post. “Hi. I’m Agnes.”
Flo hurried forward. “Are you crazy!” she whispered harshly. “He could just cut that hand right off.”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “I have lightning fast reflexes. He’d never even get started.” Agnes jerked on her hand as if to demonstrate and her eyes went wide. She wriggled and jerked, causing the gate to shimmy in its rickety frame, but she couldn’t get her hand free. “Um, mister, do you think you could unlock your gate so I can get my hand out?”
They could hear the man’s heavy boots plodding toward Agnes down the gate. There was a snuffling noise and some panting. Agnes’ eyes looked ready to pop right out of her head.
Suddenly she twitched. “He licked me!”
“He what? Oh Lord!” Flo grabbed Agnes’ thick wrist and tried to pull her free.
A low growl sounded as they struggled.
“Stop that now! You’re upsetting Rufus.”
Agnes seemed to wilt, her eyes rolling closed. “Oh, it’s a dog.” Then her eyes popped open and she renewed her struggles, more frantic than before. “Don’t let it bite me,” she implored. “Please?”
“Rufus don’t bite, lady. At least not much.” Felz’s voice was right on the other side of the gate from where Agnes was caught. Flo moved closer, trying to twist Agnes’ wrist in an attempt to free it.
“What in the wide world of breakdancing were ya thinkin’ stickin’ yore arm into that crack in the first place?”
“I just wanted to shake your hand.” Agnes jumped again. “Um, can you tell Rufus to stop licking me? I’m allergic to dog spit.”
“Well then you’re in luck, lady. Rufus ain’t no dog.”
Flo hadn’t thought Agnes’ eyes could get any wider.
She’d been wrong.
“Will you open the gate, please. We’d just like to ask you some questions about a tank.”
A beat of silence met Flo’s plea and then, thankfully, the sound of a key in the lock. A moment later the gate swung open a few inches and Agnes yanked her arm free. “Thank you so mu...” Her voice trailed off and her mouth fell open as she eyed something just inside the gate. Flo came up next to her, pulling the gate a few inches wider so she could see what Agnes was ogling.
She gave a little chirp of alarm and took an involuntary step back.
“Don’t let Rufus out, now. He’d never survive out in the wild by hisself.”
Rufus stood a foot away from Agnes’ shoes, tiny black eyes lost behind folds of skin that was crusty with something black. There were also intermittent chunks of something else that was gray and slimy. He stood almost to his owner’s waist and probably outweighed him by a couple hundred pounds. His snout was wet and quivered with interest as he fixed his beady gaze on Agnes. Something that looked like a whirly gig spun wildly on his backside, disrupting the cloud of flies trying to rest on the massive haunches.
“Rufus is a...” Agnes gulped.
“Ain’t you never seen a pig before, lady?”
Flo scanned the pig’s owner a look for the first time. She blinked. And then frowned as unease skittered through her empty stomach. “Um...” Her first thought was that Sydney Felz must have bathed alongside his pig in the wallow that morning. He was filthy.
And he looked like his pet.
Sydney’s eyes were beady too and were so dark they looked black. And his cheeks pushed at them just as Rufus’ did, making them even smaller than they were. “Mr. Felz, I presume?”
To her horror, though he looked like something that lived in the jungle, snorfling around on the ground searching for truffles, the man apparently believed in having some manners.
He offered Flo his hand.
His. Black. Crusty. Hand.
She couldn’t stop the grimace that shoved at her lips. But she took the very tip of one of his fingers and gave it a quick jerk. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Felz. I’m Flo and this is Agnes.”
“Yeah, she already told me her name.” He stood there, shotgun resting across his arms, and stared at them with an expression that was identical to his pig’s.
All Flo could think was that the man’s gaze looked cold and dead. There was no emotion. No curiosity. Not even any irritation that they’d intruded on his little piece of...heaven. “We wanted to ask you about your collection.”
He and the pig scanned a look toward Agnes and then back to Flo, their heads appearing to be attached to the same string. “What collection?”
Flo suddenly remembered the newspaper. She pulled it out of her purse and gave it to him, showing him the article.
He peered at it without any reaction for a moment and Flo realized he might not be able to read. She was just about to offer to read it for him when his lips started to move.
She and Agnes shared a look and waited. Five minutes later, Felz folded the newspaper and slipped it into the waistband of his filthy pants.
Flo swallowed bile. She wouldn’t be requesting that back.
“What of it?” he asked them in a defensive tone.
“Um.” Flo threw Agnes a helpless look.
Her friend stepped forward. “We wondered if you’d bought a tank lately?”
Felz and Rufus swiveled a blank look in her direction. It took Felz a moment to respond and when he did, Flo wasn’t expecting it.
He laughed.
A strong, genuine belly laugh that made Rufus drop to his haunches in the dirt, his ears and tail whipping around in alarm. “A tank? What would I do with a tank?”
Flo shrugged. “I’m not sure what anybody would do with a tank but the paper said you collected military equipment so...”
His laugh died but the smile hung around for another few beats. Finally he nodded, reaching into the pocket of his crusty pants. Agnes took a step back as he came up with a beat up old knife. He slipped the s
heath off and showed them a blade that looked like he’d used it to chop rocks. “This here’s from WW2. Ain’t it a beaut?”
Flo frowned. “Um. Yes, that’s...erm...lovely.”
His oversized brow lowered over his eyes, making them all but disappear. He stared at her as if trying to judge her sincerity.
“Is that your whole collection?” Agnes asked. She didn’t even bother to hide her disgust.
“No, ma’am. I got me a rocket too.”
“A...” Flo felt herself go pale. “A rocket?”
“Sure. Come on, I’ll show ya.”
They picked their way carefully through the scruff grass and mud, heading toward a tiny cabin with a crooked porch. A laundry line ran from one post of the porch to a nearby tree. The clothing hanging on the line was so gray it still looked dirty. The only things that didn’t look as if they were a hundred years old was a pair of camo pants and a matching shirt.
Rufus snorted and snuffled his way along just behind Agnes. He seemed to like her shoes a lot, and spent a lot of time with his moist snout pressed against her heel. For her part, Agnes all but leapt off the ground every time he sniffed them.
Which, when Flo thought about it, was probably the reason Rufus kept nuzzling her. He no doubt enjoyed making her dance.
Flo grinned.
“Here ya go.” Felz slammed a meaty palm down on top of a long, aluminum object that was half buried in the ground. The thing was ten feet long and was shaped like a giant bullet. It was covered in mud but Flo thought she could just make out the letters, U.S.A. and a series of numbers on its nose. On the blunt end there were three visible protrusions that Flo figured had once upon a time been the rocket’s guidance system. It currently seemed to serve as a scratching post for the giant pig. She was pretty sure Rufus was smiling as he scratched his muddy butt on the closest one. “You’re using your rocket as a trough?”
Felz looked at Agnes, clearly surprised by her question. “Well, yeah. I believe in repurposing things. And besides, Rufus loves it.”
Sure enough, the top of the rocket was cut off and the inside was filled with what looked to Flo like rotten produce.
To Rufus it looked like lunch. And it didn’t take him long to stick his wet snout into the piggy salad bar and commence to snarfin’.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Apparently, it’s a slow day at the paper,” Flo told Agnes later, when they were on their way back to Silver City.
“More like a slow year,” Agnes groused.
“Why do you look so unhappy?” Flo asked her on a grin. “It isn’t every day you get to watch a pig eat slop from a rocket.”
Agnes snorted. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have pig snot all over the back of your leg.”
Flo chuckled. “Wow, I can’t believe the paper called that a collection.”
“I guess we’re back to square one.” Agnes put her hand on her belly just as a horrendous grumbling sound filled the car. “After we get something to eat. I’m starving.”
“Watching Rufus eat made you hungry, huh?”
Agnes turned a little green. “Ugh. Now that you mention it, maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, I was toying with the idea of having a fried chicken salad. But now I’m thinking a burger and fries might be just the ticket.”
Flo shook her head. “We need to make a quick stop first. I want to talk to Detective Peters about that tank...”
Agnes’ eyes went wide and all the color leeched from her wide face. She reached out with one hand and screamed Flo’s name just as something large and red flashed into Flo’s peripheral vision.
She turned her head as the truck shot through the intersection, heading directly for Flo’s side of the car. Flo didn’t even think. She didn’t consider what was about to happen. Her instincts told her to slam on the brakes and she did. The truck crashed into the front quarter panel of her sedan and almost immediately something punched Flo in the face, knocking her head back against the headrest. The blow from the truck sent them careening around, wildly out of control.
Flo screamed, hands and legs outstretched to brace against anything she could find. Other cars flashed past. Horns honked. And Flo forgot to breathe for a full ten seconds. Finally, her car slammed up against a light pole on the corner and came to rest. For a moment, the only things Flo heard were creaking metal and the tinkling sound of glass filtering into the street.
She sat very still for a moment, afraid to move. Somewhere in the distance she heard voices, as well as a muffled pounding sound and the smell of gasoline staining the air.
Alarm bells sounded, though they were muffled by a general sense of confusion and pain.
The car shook as hands grabbed the door handle, trying to wrench it open. Flo felt dazed and slow. Something warm trickled down over her chin. She tried to turn her head and pain slammed through her.
“Are you okay?”
Agnes’ voice reminded her she wasn’t alone and took some of the muzziness from her battered brain. Flo skimmed a sideways glance toward the voice and found Agnes with blood running from a cut on the side of her head. “I think so. What in the world?”
Agnes shook her head. “Later. Here comes PoPo.”
A face appeared in the window. It was a handsome face. A worried face. And Flo thought she recognized it. But she couldn’t quite place...
“Are you ladies all right?”
Agnes sighed. “Well, you wanted to talk to Detective Peters,” she told Flo
Recognition finally settled in. Flo nodded, leaning her head back on the headrest and licking her lips. She tasted something metallic and slightly salty. Blood!
“Unlock the door, Mrs. Bee or we’ll have to break into the car.”
She reached out and fumbled with the buttons on the door, her mind having trouble figuring out how to work the locks. Finally, she shook her head. “Can’t. Sorry.” The words emerged so softly she wasn’t sure he could even hear her.
The worried face disappeared and a moment later there was a crashing sound as someone finished breaking out the glass in the back-seat window. The door opened a beat later and the car shifted as someone climbed inside. “We need to get you out of here. There’s gasoline on the street and the car could catch fire.” A big hand reached through the space between the headrest and the door and hit a button.
The door opened and Flo suddenly found herself the center of a whirlwind of activity. Something was placed around her neck, her legs were pulled out and around and, within seconds she found herself placed carefully onto a board and carried away from the crash.
She faded toward unconsciousness, so impossibly tired. But something niggled. Then she remembered. “Agnes?”
“She’s out of the car.” Something in the way Peters made the statement alarmed Flo. But she didn’t have time to worry about it. There was a tussle at the ambulance and, as the gurney was lifted into the back of the vehicle, someone eased in behind it and sat down across from her.
“Miss Willard...” Peters growled.
“Stop talking. I’m going with her.”
Flo heard a sigh and then the doors slammed shut. They eased into motion, lights flashing across Flo’s lids and siren blaring. Flo reached out blindly and a large, warm hand encompassed hers. “It’s going to be okay, Flo. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you.”
Flo was confused by that statement but it made her feel good. Safe. She nodded.
And then she succumbed to the imperatives of her battered brain and slept.
~SC~
She woke up sometime later to the feeling of sun on her face. There was a deep rumbling noise in the room and the irritating bleep of monitors near her head.
Flo cracked an eye and saw the equipment beside the bed. Digital lines and numbers bounced across the face of the monitor and the beeping quieted.
She opened the other eye and looked down, taking quick stock of her condition. Her head was killing her and when she
tried to lift it, her neck screamed. A neck brace kept her from moving her head too much.
But Flo wiggled her toes and moved her legs and, except for serving as a canvas for a series of colorful bruises, her arms seemed fine too.
The rumbling sound was briefly interrupted by a snort. Flo scanned her gaze sideways to find Agnes sprawled in an uncomfortable looking chair, legs splayed and head back. Her mouth hung open, emitting a chaos of sounds that seemed designed to keep everyone and everything in a five-block radius awake. Yet she appeared to be sleeping through it.
Flo grinned, remembering Agnes’ declaration that she would keep Flo safe. While Flo found the pronouncement endearing, she was pretty sure she could have been smothered to death and dismembered with a buzz saw without Agnes even noticing. “Agnes?”
Snore-snort, lip smack.
“Agnes? Wake up.”
Snort-snore, sleep grumble.
“Agnes!”
Agnes snorted herself awake and sat bolt upright, her gray gaze roving manically around the room. “Good Lord in Heaven, Flo. You scared the crackers out of me.”
“Sorry, hun. I just wanted to tell you to go on home. You look very uncomfortable in that chair.”
Agnes wiped drool from her chin and stretched. “I need to stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody tried to kill you out there. You need protection.”
“Agnes, that was just an accident.”
“Was it?” Agnes sat forward, lowering her voice. “Betty thought it was an accident when someone tried to run her off the road too.”
Flo blinked, realizing Agnes was right. She’d let that little piece of information slip right out of her mind, thinking, as Betty had, that it was just a spot of bad luck. “You’re right.” Flo pushed at the bed, suddenly feeling vulnerable lying there. Pain shot from her head down her spine and made her suck air into her lungs in a gasp.
Agnes was on her feet immediately. “You need to stay still. Your neck was wrenched pretty good in the crash.”
Flo gave up trying to move and grasped Agnes’ hand. “We need to tell Detective Peters.”
Agnes shook her head. “We can’t trust the police.”
