pile, but I just ended up rolling down the far side of the pile. I scrambled to get on my feet as pipes of various sizes continued to pummel me in a tangled mess.
The guy casually circled the pile and stood watching me. In a last ditch effort I slung a small pipe at the guy in a futile attempt to knock him out. My aim was high and left. The guy simply watched it sail past. I heard the pipe whack into the post of the porch.
“Enough!” The guy yelled. “Let's go. Take me to the money now or I will start putting holes in you.”
Without needing to stop and count, I knew I had all the holes in me that my basic needs required. More would have been unnecessary and, well, probably not a good idea.
As I slowly climbed to my feet I heard an odd scraping sound coming from somewhere. I glanced over the guy. He had only half turned his head to listen behind him. He was keeping his eyes on me. By now it was apparent he didn't think Wilson was any kind of threat to him and he was right.
I looked at the guy, trying not to twist my ankle on pipes all around my feet, a motion caught my eye. I lifted my gaze just in time to see a brick slide off the roof of Wilson's shack. Some kind of instinct was triggered in the guy and at the last moment and he turned around in time to catch the brick square in the forehead. For a full two seconds after the brick thumped to the ground the guy seemed to freeze, motionless. I could see his knees wobble slightly and then he gently sagged to the ground.
I stood there staring at the heap the guy made on the ground. He was out cold and the only thought that I could summon up was: “Wow.”
I guess sometimes it was better to be just stupid lucky.
.
6
I glanced around. Wilson was long gone. It was just me and the unconscious guy---and his distinctly unfriendly gun. I decided enough was enough. So long as this money was floating around Wilson and I weren't going to be safe from this guy or, potentially, the real owners of the money. Money is nice, but it's not worth a bullet. I would retrieve the money and leave it here for the guy when he woke up. Then, hopefully, we would done with this mess.
In fifteen minutes I was back at Wilson's shack with the suitcase in tow. I stood over the guy's still slumbering form. Maybe I could just make a pillow out of the suitcase for the guy. Odds are that even the slowest of individuals could find that. Still, if Wilson showed back up and saw the suitcase...better not.
I went over and tossed the suitcase into the trunk of the guy's car. And if he didn't look in his trunk? Better be sure. I went back to my car and rummaged around. I found a marker and wrote across the guy's forehead: TRUNK. There. Shouldn't take too long for him to figure that out.
I went back to my car. I had parked it up around the corner again. I was about to start it up and go when another car drove by. It pulled up next to the guy's car. I sat and watched. Who could this be?
A big guy eased out of the car. He walked over to the prone guy. He glanced over at the other guy's car. I guessed he was capable of reading foreheads. He stood up, walked over and popped the trunk of the car. Not surprisingly he lifted the suitcase out.
I had a feeling this guy was specifically looking for the money, but how he knew where to find us was a mystery. I could only guess something on the guy, the car or the money was tagged for GPS. Didn't matter now, the money was back with its 'rightful' owners and I was out of it.
I watched the guy walk back over to the prone man. Suddenly, there was a gun and an instant later a shot. Should have seen that coming. This guy cleaned up loose ends. The guy started walking back to his car when it happened. That black cloud of crappy luck that seemed to perpetually hang over me made its appearance. The guy, glancing casually about spotted me through some brush just sitting in my car, watching him.
The guy turned and started walking calmly towards me. I started the car and with that the guy veered back towards his own car at a run. I slammed the car into gear, did a fast three point turn around and spit gravel all over the place in my wake.
By the time I reached the main road I thought the guy was too far back to know where I was going, but as I hit the pavement I caught a glimpse of him closing fast. I was barely a quarter mile away when I saw the guy's car tear out on to the pavement behind me. I had a sneaking suspicion that this guy was probably better at this kind of driving than I was. I thought about taking our little race straight into town. There was a reasonable chance that Russell would be around there somewhere, but, in my gut, I didn't think Russell was much of a match for this guy. It would be best if I could just lose him. The only advantage I had was knowing the roads of Hamlet.
I jerked the wheel right and swung down Cherry Hill road. In this direction Cherry Hill road only went for about a mile before ending at Hill road. That didn't help at all, but I knew before the end of Cherry Hill I could turn off on to an unnamed dirt track that ran along the railroad tracks. The dirt track curved along for about ¾ of a mile before it stopped dead where the railroad tracks turned and cut in front of it. On the dirt track it was only possible to see for a short distance ahead because of the high brush on both sides and the steady curvature of the road.
I gunned the car down Cherry Hill and gained a little distance on the guy. Spotting the dirt track I spun the wheel and squealed my way on to it. This would be suicide to drive down a dead end, but I knew there was an out. Near the end of the dirt track was an even smalled grassy track that actually doubled back, almost invisibly, to Cherry Hill road. If you didn't know the grassy path was there it would be nearly impossible to spot it.
I sped down the dirt track listening to the lovely sound of crunching gravel and the melodic tune of a hub cap flying off somewhere. I needed to make sure I maintained enough distance so when I ducked on to the grassy path I wasn't visible to my pursuer. As time slowed and moments passed I realized that spotting the grassy path at this speed, even if I knew roughly where it was, would be a feat. Then I saw it and slammed the car left and into it. I immediate slowed down and crept along the path in the brush listening now to a variety of plant life scratch the crap out of the side of the car.
A moment passed and I heard the roar of gravel flying behind me. There was no slowing down. Another moment passed and I knew the guy had driven past the grassy path. I sped up and got back to Cherry Hill road. Glancing about there was no sign of the guy. I sped back to my parents house, pulled in the garage and closed the garage door.
I stood watching the main road through Hamlet from the living room window. I was on my second beer before I saw the guy drive slowly past, hunting for me.
.
7
I pulled into a parking spot at the township offices the following morning and glided into the building. Jesse stood guard, as usual, at the front counter. She looked up as I walked in and went right back to whatever paperwork she was shuffling through. I was never a welcome visitor here.
“Morning Jesse.” I got a grunt in response. “I don't suppose...”
A weathered slightly stooped man, mostly bald except for some white wisps circling his head, shuffled from the hallway that led back to some offices. I knew I had seen him before, but it had been a long time ago. After a moment it came back to me. Barnard Weekes. I had gone to high school with his son.
“You're Barnard Weekes.” I said.
The man looked up from some papers in his hands. He stared at me for a moment in confusion. He looked over at Jesse. “I already know that, don't I?”
Jesse sighed. “Yes, Councilman Weekes, you already know your name is Barnard Weekes.”
Weekes nodded firmly in my direction. “I know who I am.”
I sighed. “I just meant...nevermind. You were the one that came up with the plan for eliminating strays in Hamlet, correct?”
Weekes glanced at Jesse. She nodded.
Weekes nodded again at me. “That was me.”
“I was just wondering what the plan...” I started.
“Hey, you're that writer guy that just up and moved here, aren't you?” Weekes asked
.
“Well, yes, but I grew up here.” A cringed passed through me as I spoke the words. “I didn't actually move back here. I'm just house sitting at my parents house.”
“Of course you're house sitting at someone's house. You can't house sit in an empty field now can you?” Weekes shook his head and looked over at Jesse. “I just don't get young people today. They just don't make any sense.”
“I just wanted to ask about the stray animals.” I said, regretting I had even started the conversation.
“The stray animals? Oh yeah.” Weekes hesitated. “You know, our problem with strays started after you moved here.”
“Sounds about right.” Jesse said, nodding her head knowingly.
I stared at both of them. I thought about checking my watch to see if this was some kind of record. The earliest in the day someone had said something so totally and incredibly stupid that I was struck speechless. However, this was Hamlet and that record was sure to be very, very early.
“Yes, well I'm breeding great hordes of stray animals in my basement. I plan to conquer the world with them.” I said.
Jesse and Weekes stared at me.
I stared back at them.
“Well,” Weekes said, clearing his throat, “I'm pretty sure you'll need a permit for that.”
I shook my head slowly and sadly. “I was being...”
“You'll need to see Mr. Bailey about permits. I don't handle those things.” Weekes said