by J Scaddon
Red and Gus were lounging around smoking cigarettes when they saw Ida taking her boys into Dana’s diner. Red had been hurt by her lack of acknowledgment towards him. His day had started well, but it was now starting to turn sour.
“Red! Gus!” yelled Mr Graves, the body shop owner. “You lazy sons of bitches. Do you know how far behind we are? You have both been dragging your God damned feet this week and it’s taking out of my pocket. So the both of you are going to work late tonight to catch up. If you don’t like it then I think Dana is looking for a new busboy. Get it?”
Red and Gus nodded to their boss. They got it. They had spent a lot of time gossiping with people. After all the events that had happened in Monroe, they were certainly not the only ones behind in their work. Everyone had spent more time discussing current events as opposed to putting in a good hard days graft. Red’s day had gone from bad to worse. He dropped his cigarette, stamped it out and got back to work.
Ida waited around for Dylan to finish work. He had been one of the few diligent workers who had actually gotten ahead of himself. He was allowed home early and so helped Ida carry her groceries back to the house. In one bag she carried a box of cartridges. She thought that it might be wise to keep a stash for the future. Just in case. She had brought plenty of extra food as she was now feeding Dylan again. The man had a healthy appetite. As they walked back they saw a patrol car heading back into town. It was Deputy Jeb. He slowed down at seeing them and wound his window down.
“It’s all clear, Ida. Nothing to worry about. Are you sure it wasn’t a racoon?”
“Making a sandwich?” said Ida.
“That’s true. In any case, there is nothing to be found around your land. It may have been a passing tramp or something. It is very unlikely to be the killer hobo. He is well and truly gone. Trust me.”
Ida thanked the deputy and both parties carried on to their respective destinations. As soon as Ida entered the house, she placed the box of cartridges to one side and began making the supper. Dylan had been in work and deserved a good meal. She would load the shotgun later, ready for the night time. Now that it was daylight and she had her brother present, Ida’s mind turned to green beans and potatoes. Dylan took the boys out into the back yard and chased them around. That everyone would soon be worn out was a good thing as they could all do with a good sleep anyway. Ida tried to take heart from what Deputy Jeb had told her, but couldn’t help but question the effectiveness of the sheriff and his men. After all, there had been so many people killed in Monroe in such a short space of time. They had been killed so soon after each other that none of the bodies had yet been released for burial. They were still being kept as evidence by the county. A move which had angered many within the town. Not least the sheriff.
Ida made a little extra food. She knew the sheriff was coming over and so figured that he could join them for supper, if he turned up on time. If he turned up afterwards then she would at least have something for him to go home with. As it happened, supper time came and went. Ida, Dylan, Jake and Joel gathered at the table and feasted on the delights that Ida had made. After supper, everyone helped to tidy things away. They settled down on the back porch and watched out over the pines.
There was a knock at the front door and Dylan got up from his chair to go and answer it. Ida and the boys followed. It was most likely the sheriff. Dylan opened the door and came face to face with Sheriff Glick who stood with a jovial expression. In one hand he carried his trusty shotgun and in the other he had brought a gift of chocolates.
“Evening, Dylan. Is Ida home?”
Dylan stepped back and welcomed the sheriff in.
“Evening, Ida. Boys! I brought you a little gift. Well, it’s actually from Mrs Glick. She was so upset about hearing of your troubles and so asked me to bring you a small package of chocolates. I believe they are from Belgium. I don’t know myself if they are any good or not, but Mrs Glick says they are.”
“Thank you, James,” said Ida. “There is still some supper left if you are hungry.”
“No thanks, Ida! Mrs Glick will be waiting for me to head on home and sit with her at the table. So I can only make what I gotta do brief.”
The sheriff shoved his free hand into his pocket and fished around. As he pulled his hand out, his keys dropped to the floor by his feet. “Aw heck. Dylan boy, could you help me out, my back is all a crick at the moment?”
Dylan was happy to oblige. He bent down to gather the keys. The sheriff looked down at the back of his head, his face turning from cheer to cold hatred. Sheriff Glick rose his shotgun up high and then drove the butt end down into the back of Dylan’s head.
