Not With A Whimper

 

     This morning was cool and wet.  We had just been through a cold snap, laughable to those up north but hard on us here in the Coastal Bend, we just ain't used to real wintertime.  I was drinking coffee and standing on my back porch watching the ibises and cranes pick through the grass looking for their breakfast.  As all the lizards would be lethargic and hunkered down I imagine it was insects and no more for those birds to eat.  I saw one ibis get two small snakes in a few seconds, I was surprised that any would be out and about this day.  I am fond of the reptiles but we would certainly be overrun with a exponentially increasing lizards unless they were culled by predators.  Lizards and snakes are predators as well so nature evens out in it's cold conclusions.  I had the radio on and was listening to the latest reports of the buildup to (another) war.  The only thing that worried me was that as a unique bio weapon I might be called up to serve.  Refusal would certainly end my freedom and I would be forced to go anyway.  I wondered how my friend Paulie was taking this news.  The radio announcer was breathless, giddy almost, at the idea of deploying troops to another unnecessary conflict but these types of people applauded anything the current incompetent administration did as opposed to the doings of the last incompetent administration.  I thought the whole thing a distraction and an obvious one from the scandal ridden bureaucrats who wielded the reins of power without check, none of them or their families would be on the front lines.  Of course I am an enlisted, er...person so my opinion counts for nothing.  I flipped my cigarette at the nearest crane and went inside.
     It being winter I had moved my stained glass bench into the spare bedroom, I could keep the doors locked so my kitties didn't get glass splinters in their feet.  I was working on a largish panel depicting the martyrdom of John the Baptist, all that blood added color to the dull greens and blues I was using as a metaphor, for what I don't remember just now.  Of course there are those who might object to a saint shown as a rabbit, but no one will see this in any event and it kept me happy to do something creative other than pacing and chain smoking.  I use pliers and old fashioned Red Devil glass cutters, no grinders or self oiling equipment for me, too much trouble for no improvement in the results.  What matters is what the viewer sees, not the edges beneath the lead.  I have to dip the cutter in linseed oil each time I use it, this gets the fur on my hands slick with oil and is a considerable irritation.  I could paint the details in but that would require a kiln so I prefer to use copper foil to do small things like faces or words.  After cutting a particularly tricky piece I heard my cats scratching on the door and realized it was already lunchtime.  I made sure that I had not left my soldering iron on, again, and went into the kitchen after closing and locking the room door behind me, Meemers can open sliding doors and will do so just out of sheer devilry.  Most people don't feed cats 3 times a day but I am excessively fond of them and spoil them something outrageous.  I had just put out two bowls of tuna and was thinking of chopping up an apple and some walnuts to make tuna salad when there came a knock on the front door.  I covered the bowl with a saucer and went to see who was there.  I opened the door and it was a young lady with UPS that had a package I needed to sign for.  She jumped a bit when she saw me but was otherwise very courteous and professional.  I waved good bye to her and went back inside to see what this surprise was.  It was from Paulie in Chicago, I thought it strange that he hadn't mentioned anything like this to me, we talked only a couple of days ago.  The big Panda was taciturn to a fault but I would still have expected a heads up. 
The package was about the size of a chess set and was fairly heavy, the postage had been very expensive.  To say the least I was intrigued, so using a knife that was laying about I slit open the tape and then decided that I needed my glasses.  I stepped away from the couch and started for the kitchen when I found myself facedown on the floor, I wondered what had happened.  There was total silence and the house was full of smoke and flame.  I shook my head and tried to stand but lost my balance and fell against the wall.  I pushed away and grabbed a fire extinguisher and proceeded to foam down the living room.  Glass from the shattered TV screen crunched beneath my bare feet and I could hardly see because of the torrent of blood flowing into my eyes.  I could see Precious arching her back and yowling but I couldn't hear her.  I managed to pick her up and lock her in my bedroom and I guess that's when I passed out.
The feds told me at the hospital that when I cut the tape that I had not completely broke the circuit of the bomb's trigger, that Meemers must have clawed the loose paper and set off the charge.  When I got back to the house nothing had been cleaned up or changed so I had to bury what was left of Mischa in the back yard by Beau.  My skull hurt where something had smashed into it, I'm sure I looked a sight with half my head shaved and all those stitches running across my face.  Someone must have let Precious out of the bedroom because she was not anywhere to be found.  I wasn't hungry so I poured a glass of wine and sat on the back porch and watched the sun go down.  The house faces east so I cannot watch the sun sink into the Gulf.  I never sit out front in any event, too many cars passing by.  There were vultures from the colony down the road lining the telephone wire running into the house, I waved at them and said, 'Not yet, boys'.  They paid me no attention, they never do.
The only part of the package not destroyed was the return address, oddly enough.  It was written in Paulie's handwriting, that had been confirmed and there was a...manhunt on for him.  One of the investigators was of the opinion that his mind had snapped and he likely had focused his anger upon the only person he knew well, which would be me.  My house would be under surveillance from now on, as would I.  I lit another cigarette and thought of what to do.  I knew that Paulie would be shot evading custody or some other tired excuse, and I knew he had enough sense to stay away from here.  The odds were that he was already dead, the scene would be staged as a suicide, probably by drowning, no inconvenient body to deal with that way.  Then the side gate creaked open and someone walked up behind me.
     "I thought you would be needing this", and retired Sergeant Major Warden handed Precious to me.  She wriggled and I hugged her and fought back tears.  I put her down and asked the old man,
     "Did you really retire here, Sir, or am I an assignment"?  He lit his pipe, looked up at the vultures.
     "An assignment, I'm afraid", he replied, "but a good one.  I like this town and I don't have to do anything".  He drew on the pipe.  "Anything strenuous, that is.  I'm sorry about your cat, that wasn't supposed to happen".  He looked into my eyes.  "These young 'uns today think that everything will always go as planned".
I thought of killing him but I knew that I was in barely good enough shape to walk, never mind fight.  Besides, I could see the pistol under his floral shirt, I'm fast but not that fast. I said,
     "What now"?
     "You know why I'm here, I'm surprised you ask".  His pipe wasn't drawing right and he lit it again, using a wooden match.  "I found the body, you couldn't take it anymore and today was the last straw".  He had the pistol in his hand pointed at me.  "I'm sorry, I really do like you", and then Paulie stepped out of the garage doorway and snapped his neck like a dry twig.  The big bear picked up the weapon, checked the breach, and then sat down and drank wine straight out of the bottle.  Precious delightedly twined herself around his feet and he reached down and scratched her ears.
  "Long time no see", he said.

Boo.