Hags Episode 7

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“That bad, huh?”

Micah paused before he took a deep breath. “Found a body.”

“A human body?”

Micah searched Bob’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Alive, I hope.”

“No.” Micah noticed how dark brown Bob’s eyes were.

“Man or woman?”

Micah faced the window. His voice was soft. “Young teenaged girl, a kid.”

“What happened?” Bob put a tiny hand on Micah’s muscular arm.

Micah adjusted his position to face Bob. “Somebody cut her heart out.”

“Don’t tell me that stuff.”

“You asked.”

“Yeah. I can be stupid sometimes.” Bob called over his shoulders. “Hey, Peevy, you hear anything about a murder last night?”

Peevy stopped rubbing the counter and stared at Bob for a few seconds. “No.”

“Micah found a body.”

“His latest victim. Call the police.” Peevy resumed polishing.

Bob shook his head. “That’s harsh, Peevy.” He picked up Micah’s fifty, rubbed it between his fingers and handed it to Peevy at the counter. She held it up to the light while Bob returned to his seat.

Micah pointed with his coffee. “Didn’t realize Peevy worked here. I just moved back from Phoenix.”

“So you’re new in town?” Bob rose from his seat and picked up two empty coffee cups from the floor.

“New again. Grew up in Naperville.” Micah played with a rip in his faded blue jeans.

“Childhood sweetheart thing, right?” Bob tossed the cups in the trash before returning to his seat again.

“Yes, sir. High school. After high school.” Micah tried to duck as a wad of cash and several coins pelted him. More than a few customers ducked out of the way. Peevy turned her back to Micah.

“Peevy, you’re not nice,” Bob said.

Peevy turned around and stared blue-eyed bullets at Micah. “Get out means you put your rear end on the other side of the door.”

Bob approached the counter. “Peevy, give these nice customers here each a drink on the house. And stop scaring people away.”

Bob rejoined Micah at the table. “Some of us act like we’re still in high school, but it was such a long time ago for you two to be so angry with each other now. Did college break you up?”

“No.” Micah stuffed the wad of bills in his pants pocket without counting it. He ignored the coins scattered about the floor.

“Another girl?”

“Ask Peevy.” Micah took a sip of coffee.

“Ah, another boy. Tough luck, fella. Say, what’s your name anyway?”

“Probert.” He stared at the top of his coffee cup.

“That your first name?”

“Sorry, sir. Micah Probert.”

The short man stuck out a small hand with stubby fingers. “Bob. Glad to meet you.”

“You too, Bob.” Micah noticed a flash of color when a man strolled into the coffee shop.

The man wore blue jeans, a red shirt and brown leather lace up boots, the type a construction worker might use in the mud. A copy of Mark Twain’s Letters from the Earth stuck out from under his arm. Blood dripped from the book.

“You know that guy?” Micah asked.

“Yeah, he’s an angel. Why?” Bob sipped his coffee.

Micah’s stomach flipped. “His book is dripping blood.”

Bob turned to the man again. “No, it’s the color of the book.”

Micah glanced over again and didn’t see the blood. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Anyway, he flew by my window this morning?”

“Low flying airplane?”

“No, gossamer wings.”

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