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He’s late.
I pace up and down the shoulder, watching the road
for headlights. The trees whisper secrets in the gentle
breeze. My breath makes clouds in front of my face.
It’s not snowing, but the sky is seriously considering it.
People think Texas is hot, but in early December it falls
below fifty.
Normally I’d stay in the driver’s seat, working on
riddles. Strangers mail them to me, and I solve them for
twenty bucks each. This started out as a money-laundering
scheme, and surprised me by becoming an actual job. But
tonight I have to get out of the car. A diet of primarily
meat, stale bread and salted coffee has ugly side effects.
I’m having stomach cramps.
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how much the driver would have seen. Even less sure how
likely they are to report anything they did see.
One more thing before I go. I pick up a rock about
the size of a deck of cards, and pitch it as far as I can,
over the tops of the trees. It crashes down somewhere in
the distance. I can’t see the flashlight, but I can hear the
tracker changing direction, moving with renewed urgency.
I wait until the sound fades. Then I start the engine,
release the park brake and pull out onto the highway.
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me, they love meat, they have poor impulse control and
they’re usually at someone else’s mercy.
‘Hi, Shawn,’ I say. ‘You’re up early.’
Can he see the blood on my face and my shirt? Probably
not, if I stay in the shadows of the carport. And from this
angle, he can’t see the inside of the trunk. I casually close
the lid.
‘New Year’s resolution,’ Shawn is saying. He does an
exaggerated hamstring stretch. ‘I’m gonna get into shape.’
Shawn is already in shape. I’ve often thought he looks
tasty. Two hundred pounds, five foot nine, thirty years
old, black. There’s no sweat in his moustache, so he hasn’t
started his run yet.
‘It’s December,’ I say.
‘I know. I’m training for New Year’s.’
‘Oh. Have fun.’
The dog looks very interested in the trunk of my car.
She strains at the chain.
Shawn tugs her back towards him. ‘You should come
with me,’ he says. ‘We could make it a regular thing.’
‘Maybe another time,’ I say.
Shawn has lived next door to me for years, but only
started talking to me recently, after my roommate dis
appeared. I think Shawn was scared of him. He should
have been scared of me instead. He seems like a good guy,
so I try to avoid him. I don’t want him to get hurt.
Shawn finally registers that I’m not in running gear
and I don’t have a dog. ‘What are you doing out here so
early?’ he asks.
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