dropping the papers he was carrying on the desk in front of Jesse and shuffled back down the hallway.
Jesse continued to stare at me disapprovingly.
“Is Russell in?” I asked.
“Russell doesn't handle permits.” Jesse said coldly.
“I don't need a permit.” I said.
“You do if you are going to breed stray animals out of season.” Jesse replied.
“Out of season? Wait, nevermind, I don't want to know. I am not breeding any animals. Now or whenever they might be in season.” I said firmly.
“Well, you'll still have to file a form if you are declaring your intent to conquer the world.” Jesse said as she mixed Weekes papers into the pile in front of her.
“What?”
Jesse nodded. “The town council passed an ordinance three years ago. If you are living within the township and intend on taking over the world you have to file a form.”
I stared at her.
“The form covers some tax issues and liability waivers.” Jesse said. She stared back at me.
Wow, I thought. Twice in one morning. Speechless.
Russell's office door burst open and he came out slipping his hat on---a sure indication that he was headed out to some serious police business.
“Hey, Russell,” I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”
Russell waved me off. “Can't talk Sammy. Gotta go.”
“Russell, this is something serious.”
“Sammy, someone just found a body in a car south of town. It'll have to wait.” Russell was almost to the door.
“Russell, wait. What color was the car?” I asked.
Russell hesitated and stared at me. “What kind of question is that? Why does it matter?”
“Was it Brown?” I asked.
Russell studied me. “I want to talk to you when I get back.” Russell ducked out the door.
Well, I thought, that answered my question.
.
8
I parked the car in the garage with the intention of closing the garage door again just in case the big guy was still hunting for me. Before I could start the door closing, a battered hulk of metal that functioned as something like a truck pulled in.
It was Wilson. I wasn't pleased. Not only did he run out on me at his shack, which I should have expected, but the big guy with the gun probably had seen Wilson's truck as well. I felt like the truck was a big red flag waving in front of the house calling out to the big guy: “Hey, I'm right here. Come and shoot me.”
Wilson got out and shambled over to me as I stood at the entrance to the garage.
“Sammy, you got away too, huh?” Wilson asked anxiously.
“It seems to me the answer to that question should be exceedingly obvious.” I said sarcastically.
“Right.” Wilson nodded. “Right. So Sammy...about the money...you didn't...”
“Forget about the money.” I said. “It's gone. I tried to give it back to the guy, but that didn't work out.”
Wilson fretted. “Gone? What do you mean...? Sammy, that money was mine. I found it. What do you mean that it didn't work out? Where's my money?”
“First, it was never really your money. It was always somebody else's money. You just happened to come across it. Second, that money someone was willing to kill for and did. That guy at your shack was killed by the real owner of the money---or some very dangerous representative of theirs.”
“But Sammy, where's my money?” Wilson shifted restlessly.
“Forget the money! It's gone. The killer has the money.” I said disgustedly.
“Gone? It can't be gone.” Wilson wailed. “My money!”
“Yes, it's gone. Now you better get out of here. The killer is looking for me and if he shows up here he's liable to kill you too.”
Wilson twisted around to glance back at the street. “He's coming here?”
“Yeah, I invited him over so we could discuss the best way to shoot me.” I said, the sarcasm unmistakably spilling forth.
Wilson looked back at me. “Sammy, are you sure that was a good idea?”
I was quiet for a moment. “I am beginning to think it would have been.”
“Well,” Wilson said nervously glancing about, “I guess I better get back to work.” He did a quick shuffle back to his truck.
Wilson had just pulled out and I had started pulling the garage door down when another vehicle pulled into the drive. Reluctantly, I pushed the door back up to see who it was. It could have been the killer, but, at this point, I might have welcomed him with open arms.
Becky pulled her car up to within a foot of where I was standing and got out.
“I thought for a moment you were going to run me over.” I said in greeting.
“The thought has occurred to me once or twice before.” She said with a smile.
“Yeah.” I replied, unsure if she was being completely sarcastic or not.
“Wasn't that Wilson I just saw leaving?” Becky asked.
I nodded. “It was.”
“What did he want? Wait, don't tell me, he wanted you to give him the money back.”
I told her where the money ended up---leaving out some of the more dramatic parts.
“So, I assume Wilson cried like a baby.” Becky said, laughing.
I nodded again. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“I was thinking you might like to get something to eat.” Becky said
I hesitated. “Here? In Hamlet?”
“Of course here. Or were you thinking you wanted to be a big spender and travel to the glamorous city of Ann Arbor?”
I hesitated again.
“What? What's the problem?” Becky asked eyeing me.
“It's just that...well...I'm a little unclear about the supply chain right now.” I said with a shrug.
“With the supply...oh, please. Will you stop imagining things?” Becky put her hands on her hips.
“I...” Was all I could say.
“Well, you better figure it out or you'll never be able to eat in Hamlet again.” Becky shook her head.
I thought about that for a moment. “And the downside would be...?”
“I thought we could get something to eat before I went to work, but I'll just get something at the Pub.” Becky got back into her car and left.
I watched her go. She was probably right, but I couldn't help picturing someone running through the streets of Hamlet yelling: “Hey everyone, Soylent Green is kittens!”
I made a deal with myself. I would stake out the back of the string of restaurants along the main road of Hamlet this evening. If nothing odd or suspcious turned up I would put all thoughts of being forced into becoming a petavore (a new category I had recently decided should exist) out of my head. Or, at least, I would try.
.
9
This is just stupid, I thought. Becky was right. I'm just being paranoid and I am wasting my time here. Still, I didn't move. I just sat in the car along the gravel road that ran along the back of the restaurants.
It was dark and I could see very little. I had rolled my window down to listen. Across the gravel road from the restaurants was a grassy field and a symphony of crickets filled the air. I waited, silently cursing and swatting the mosquitos.
Then I heard it. A cat. It meowed from somewhere along the back of the restaurants. I slipped out of the car and crept up to the buildings. There was dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant. I moved up next to that and peeked around it. Sure enough, a black and white cat meandered along the backside of Dennis' pizza place.
This was it. Dennis would suddenly appear, snatch the cat and, voila, fresh pepperoni. I moved closer. There was a pile of trash bags stacked up a short distance from the back door of Dennis' restaurant. I squatted next to the pile watching the scene.
Right on cue the door of Dennis' restaurant swung open and I was ready to catch Dennis in the act.
Instead, I caught a bag of trash in the ribs and fell back into the pile of other trash bags.
The cat scampered off. The door of Dennis' place slammed shut.
I lay there wondering if this was a new low for me. It was hard to say. There were so many contenders for that position.
The back door of the Chinese restaurant opened and the bus boy stepped out with a bag of trash. He headed for the dumpster and spotted me on the way.
He shook his head as he deposited the bag into the dumpster. “That's a damn shame. Throwing away a perfectly good customer like that.” He walked back into the restaurant.
I climbed to my feet and started back towards my car. Another car came down the gravel road. It stopped just behind mine. The headlights made it impossible for me to see the car. The driver's door opened and the dome light lit up the driver.
Oh, happy day. The big guy with the gun. I stopped. He stared at me for a moment.
“There you are.” He said. “Been looking for you.”
“I don't think that was a good idea.” I said, trying to sound tough and confident while peeling a used napkin off my forehead.
“Oh? And why is that?” The guy said as he closed the car door and took a step closer.
I glanced around for some means of escape. I knew the light was dim enough he couldn't see my thinly veiled panic.
“I have already talked to the police about you.” I said. “They already have your description and a description of the car you're driving. Killing me now will only make it worse for you when they catch up with you.”
“Funny,” the guy replied, “I was listening to the Police band and there's nothing about me on it. You know what? I don't think you've told anyone about me and I don't think you will be.” He pointed a gun in my general direction.
I thought about trying to duck into the Chinese restaurant, but I wasn't sure if the door was locked or not. If it was, I would be an easy target up against a block wall. I made a typically quick and