Read Online Bound for Home (Tyler Cunningham Shorts) by Jamie Sheffield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jamie Sheffield
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equidistant from both, and they serve fantastic ice cream with the best view ( that I’ve yet seen ) in the Adirondacks. They also don’t force me to choose my flavor ( I have trouble making choices without sufficient evidence to make a considered judgment … growing up in NYC with Baskin Robbins was torturously stressful … Donnelly’s has one flavor everyday … you just have to choose the size ). I sat down on the grass and found the castle on top of Whiteface in the distance.
“Tony Allen, Robert Everson, Mark LaFleur, and Brent Martin.” I said while handing him a folded sheet of paper. “Their names and home/work addresses and phone numbers are on that.” I tapped the paper, at the same time doing some speedy r epair work on my dripping cone. Donnelly’s has been using the same soft ice-cream machine since 1953, and while it is a marvel of mechanical endurance, it can deliver overly soft treats when they get busy … as they were today.
“What, all four of them killed the birds?” John asked, unbelieving.
“Of course not, but I don’t know which of them it is.” I answered, getting ready for his next question.
“So why the fuck are we sharing this pleasant, if runny, dairy treat, Tyler?” He gestured dramatically with his cone, and three drops of light-purple goo spattered my t-shirt like thick blood. “You said that you’d get the information I needed to stop the bird-icide ( avicide, I thought, but didn’t interrupt ), and here we are … you just gave me a random list of names … these guys could owe you money or steal your morning paper for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes, possi bly, but they don’t and didn’t. One of these four heard or saw something directly or indirectly that makes them think something in your not-so-secure office is worth stealing. I don’t know what it is, or which one it is … nor do I really care. I have a plan to end/head-off your problems without having to do the last bit of legwork … do you want to hear it or not?”
He perked up at this, and I leaned/dodged/ducked out of the way of some more black-raspberry spatter-evidence. “Do tell.”
“I’ve identified four possibles. We don’t want to stake them out for days/weeks to find the guilty party; we just want the slaughter of innocents ( I gave him a bit of my #4, playful, but could tell that it, to some degree, flopped ) to stop. Our advantage is that we don’t need to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt … that, coupled with a comfortable disregard for the rights and property of others.” I could see that he had a glimmer, so I continued.
“Allen has a sugarbush not far from Helgafell, and it feeds into a sugar shack.” John looked at me as though I was speaking Dutch. “A stand of sugar maple trees and a house that he uses to boil the sap down into maple syrup.” He nodded.
“We burn the sugar shack … it’s insured and nobody’s ever in it at this time of year. Everson owns a store in town that sells formal-wear and other clothes … we break the front display windows. LaFleur drives a new Escalade … we flatten all four tires. Martin has an attached garage at his home, and no dog ( or guinea fowls ) to raise the alarm … we can hose it down with blood-red paint.” John looked at me like I was crazy.
“Four different forms of vandalism won’t seem connected/related to anyone who doesn’t have my list already in their head ( especially the Police ), but the guilty party will definitely take it as a message … the one who actually killed the birds and wants to rob you will get the message, and stop … the rest will collect insurance and feel unlucky for a day or two.”
He tilted his head at me, like a dog trying to get a fix on a mysterious whistle, “You’re an odd duck Tyler Cunningham, no shit.” John smiled at me, and did some clean-up work on his ice-cream which had started running down his wrist. “Afterwards, how do we find out which one it was?”
“We don’t. We
“Tony Allen, Robert Everson, Mark LaFleur, and Brent Martin.” I said while handing him a folded sheet of paper. “Their names and home/work addresses and phone numbers are on that.” I tapped the paper, at the same time doing some speedy r epair work on my dripping cone. Donnelly’s has been using the same soft ice-cream machine since 1953, and while it is a marvel of mechanical endurance, it can deliver overly soft treats when they get busy … as they were today.
“What, all four of them killed the birds?” John asked, unbelieving.
“Of course not, but I don’t know which of them it is.” I answered, getting ready for his next question.
“So why the fuck are we sharing this pleasant, if runny, dairy treat, Tyler?” He gestured dramatically with his cone, and three drops of light-purple goo spattered my t-shirt like thick blood. “You said that you’d get the information I needed to stop the bird-icide ( avicide, I thought, but didn’t interrupt ), and here we are … you just gave me a random list of names … these guys could owe you money or steal your morning paper for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes, possi bly, but they don’t and didn’t. One of these four heard or saw something directly or indirectly that makes them think something in your not-so-secure office is worth stealing. I don’t know what it is, or which one it is … nor do I really care. I have a plan to end/head-off your problems without having to do the last bit of legwork … do you want to hear it or not?”
He perked up at this, and I leaned/dodged/ducked out of the way of some more black-raspberry spatter-evidence. “Do tell.”
“I’ve identified four possibles. We don’t want to stake them out for days/weeks to find the guilty party; we just want the slaughter of innocents ( I gave him a bit of my #4, playful, but could tell that it, to some degree, flopped ) to stop. Our advantage is that we don’t need to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt … that, coupled with a comfortable disregard for the rights and property of others.” I could see that he had a glimmer, so I continued.
“Allen has a sugarbush not far from Helgafell, and it feeds into a sugar shack.” John looked at me as though I was speaking Dutch. “A stand of sugar maple trees and a house that he uses to boil the sap down into maple syrup.” He nodded.
“We burn the sugar shack … it’s insured and nobody’s ever in it at this time of year. Everson owns a store in town that sells formal-wear and other clothes … we break the front display windows. LaFleur drives a new Escalade … we flatten all four tires. Martin has an attached garage at his home, and no dog ( or guinea fowls ) to raise the alarm … we can hose it down with blood-red paint.” John looked at me like I was crazy.
“Four different forms of vandalism won’t seem connected/related to anyone who doesn’t have my list already in their head ( especially the Police ), but the guilty party will definitely take it as a message … the one who actually killed the birds and wants to rob you will get the message, and stop … the rest will collect insurance and feel unlucky for a day or two.”
He tilted his head at me, like a dog trying to get a fix on a mysterious whistle, “You’re an odd duck Tyler Cunningham, no shit.” John smiled at me, and did some clean-up work on his ice-cream which had started running down his wrist. “Afterwards, how do we find out which one it was?”
“We don’t. We
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