a thicket of Yellow Cedar.
A shaft of sunlight had come down through the trees, illuminating Buck like a spotlight. On the door, Tommy could see the sign to the bar was flipped to CLOSED. Buck’s balding head was slick with sweat. On his skull, three mosquitoes were sucking away merrily. A surprising sight coming from a man who took such immense pleasure in squashing those ‘little bastards’ dead whenever he could.
Buck came to his open window.
“So where is this thing?” Tommy asked.
“Stay right there, we’re going to Keisel’s.”
There was a blood stained hanky wrapped around Buck’s left hand.
“The Keisel steel factory?” Tommy asked. “What on earth for? It’s abandoned.”
Buck threw him a look that people do when they’re not in the mood to repeat themselves and crossed to the passenger side door and climbed inside, mosquitoes and all.
“Take the A3,” Buck began, pulling a hand across his forehead and wiping it on the leg of his jeans. “It’s quicker. Get off just before Harmond Avenue and hang three rights. Steel Works is a big bitch, can’t miss her.”
Tommy pulled out and headed for the A3.
“That where you left it?” Tommy finally inquired when they hit the interstate. He could practically see the whirlwind of thoughts tussling around inside Buck’s head. Buck nodded absently.
“Buck, I gotta ask. What in hell’s name were you doing over there in the first place?”
“The leak was getting real bad…”
“Huh?”
“I was gone to get siding to fix the leak in the roof.”
Lonie’s was certainly no Taj Mahal; this Tommy knew without a doubt, but metal siding, ripped from an abandoned steel factory? The place was already on its way to looking like something out of a 1930’s shanty town, it sure as hell didn’t need any help.
“Buck, I’ve never seen you like this in all the time I’ve known you.”
Buck looked at him and then fell into a moody silence, his face the color of raw chicken. Something had the old man scared bad.
When Tommy wasn’t tending bar at Lonie’s, he and Buck were usually out hunting or dreaming up quick and easy ways to strike it rich. But in all that time the strangest thing they ever came across was a five legged deer: nothing any self-respecting cryptozoologist would even blink twice at. And even the deer they had let amble back into the thick brush that day, partly because, as Buck had put it, ‘when mother nature fucks up that bad, it’s best to leave the poor thing be; she’ll have a hard enough time getting on without two yahoos trying to blast it to bits.’
The sudden sound of Buck’s voice startled Tommy. “First time I seen the thing, I didn’t think much of it. Looked to me like one of them birds… like an eagle. Wingspan eight, maybe nine feet. And it was circlin’ overhead, right above me, the way eagles tend to when they’re lookin’ for somethin’ to eat.”
“No shortage of rats at Keisel’s,” Tommy said, “that’s for sure.”
Buck glared at him with frightening intensity. “Damn right! And that’s when it hit me that something was wrong. Where the heck were the other birds? I mean, I can’t remember ever seeing less than a dozen bald eagles flyin’ over the steel works.”
Tommy exited the A3 and made a right.
“At the time,” Buck said, “I tried not to give it too much thought. Jesus, I’m no small man, Tommy.” Buck’s forearms were flexing almost on queue, the muscles in his arms bunching up like taught cords. “There’s not a lot of worrying needs to be done when a bird looks like its eyeing me for dinner. Matter of fact, at the time I was sure it was lookin’ for something else, like some dumb squirrel that had got its head stuck in a hole somewhere.
“So I got my crowbar with me and I’m jimmying a nice piece of paneling off one of those small depot sheds when my hand slips and I slice a strip the size of Bethany Elroy’s ass crack.” Buck held the outer edge of his left hand
A shaft of sunlight had come down through the trees, illuminating Buck like a spotlight. On the door, Tommy could see the sign to the bar was flipped to CLOSED. Buck’s balding head was slick with sweat. On his skull, three mosquitoes were sucking away merrily. A surprising sight coming from a man who took such immense pleasure in squashing those ‘little bastards’ dead whenever he could.
Buck came to his open window.
“So where is this thing?” Tommy asked.
“Stay right there, we’re going to Keisel’s.”
There was a blood stained hanky wrapped around Buck’s left hand.
“The Keisel steel factory?” Tommy asked. “What on earth for? It’s abandoned.”
Buck threw him a look that people do when they’re not in the mood to repeat themselves and crossed to the passenger side door and climbed inside, mosquitoes and all.
“Take the A3,” Buck began, pulling a hand across his forehead and wiping it on the leg of his jeans. “It’s quicker. Get off just before Harmond Avenue and hang three rights. Steel Works is a big bitch, can’t miss her.”
Tommy pulled out and headed for the A3.
“That where you left it?” Tommy finally inquired when they hit the interstate. He could practically see the whirlwind of thoughts tussling around inside Buck’s head. Buck nodded absently.
“Buck, I gotta ask. What in hell’s name were you doing over there in the first place?”
“The leak was getting real bad…”
“Huh?”
“I was gone to get siding to fix the leak in the roof.”
Lonie’s was certainly no Taj Mahal; this Tommy knew without a doubt, but metal siding, ripped from an abandoned steel factory? The place was already on its way to looking like something out of a 1930’s shanty town, it sure as hell didn’t need any help.
“Buck, I’ve never seen you like this in all the time I’ve known you.”
Buck looked at him and then fell into a moody silence, his face the color of raw chicken. Something had the old man scared bad.
When Tommy wasn’t tending bar at Lonie’s, he and Buck were usually out hunting or dreaming up quick and easy ways to strike it rich. But in all that time the strangest thing they ever came across was a five legged deer: nothing any self-respecting cryptozoologist would even blink twice at. And even the deer they had let amble back into the thick brush that day, partly because, as Buck had put it, ‘when mother nature fucks up that bad, it’s best to leave the poor thing be; she’ll have a hard enough time getting on without two yahoos trying to blast it to bits.’
The sudden sound of Buck’s voice startled Tommy. “First time I seen the thing, I didn’t think much of it. Looked to me like one of them birds… like an eagle. Wingspan eight, maybe nine feet. And it was circlin’ overhead, right above me, the way eagles tend to when they’re lookin’ for somethin’ to eat.”
“No shortage of rats at Keisel’s,” Tommy said, “that’s for sure.”
Buck glared at him with frightening intensity. “Damn right! And that’s when it hit me that something was wrong. Where the heck were the other birds? I mean, I can’t remember ever seeing less than a dozen bald eagles flyin’ over the steel works.”
Tommy exited the A3 and made a right.
“At the time,” Buck said, “I tried not to give it too much thought. Jesus, I’m no small man, Tommy.” Buck’s forearms were flexing almost on queue, the muscles in his arms bunching up like taught cords. “There’s not a lot of worrying needs to be done when a bird looks like its eyeing me for dinner. Matter of fact, at the time I was sure it was lookin’ for something else, like some dumb squirrel that had got its head stuck in a hole somewhere.
“So I got my crowbar with me and I’m jimmying a nice piece of paneling off one of those small depot sheds when my hand slips and I slice a strip the size of Bethany Elroy’s ass crack.” Buck held the outer edge of his left hand
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