Life is Warm and Buttery: Prologue

The fat man pushed into the wall belly first. His hips turned with contact, rolling him around until he was flat on his back. The crying child remained secure in his heavy arms.

Sweat flooded his eyebrows and stung his eyes. One arm was allowed release to wipe this perspiration. After a single wipe, the arm returned to the safety of the newborn.

The crying echoed through the stairwell loudly. Concrete walls provide effective reflection. Two deep breaths and the fat man resumed his hurried descent, stomping loudly to help block the cries. There were six floors left to go. He would stumble again and hit the wall, but the child remained secure in his obese bosom.

The fat man knew something about mothers. He knew how they could be cruel. This sweaty fat man saw through the myth of the loving mother. He'd never known any as a child nor as an adult. Poked and prodded, mocked and abused, this thief, this kidnapper, this panicked father recognized a lack of motherly love. He saw it in the face of this child's mother. He couldn't let it happen again.

Here was a fat man, a fat boy, a loser, an idiot, an unreliable employee and all around piece of shit. There came a woman, not fat, but ugly. She had ugliness that reeked of suicide and wine. She was sick and the fat man thought she might let him take care of her. But she wouldn't, even after she was pregnant with his son. Instead, she lived rough and deadly, trying to kill the infection in her womb. The child would be dead. She wouldn't raise a son of his. She'd kill it or sell it. And then she gave birth.

When the doctor showed her bundle of joy, she complained about the pain. She begged for drugs she knew she would get. True disgust crusted her lips when she heard her son begging for her poison milk. She held the infant away from her, away from her lactating breast. Her eyes shuddered with this burden. And the fat man recognized the look.

He burst through the exit and entered the alley, the child's screams still echoing in the stairwell behind them. He caught his balance without the assistance of the walls and looked around them. An ambulance sat idle with lights flashing, its crew busy inside with their own unloved body. The fat man knew where he was heading. He could make it on foot.





OK, that does it for tonight. I was gonna have the kid left on a convent's doorstep, but that's old. I'll try think of something different. If not I can always come back to the convent.

Two weeks?!!

Unbelievable! Two weeks with nothing!

Well, I did film a comedy clip but that only took away a weekend. Goddamn overtime at work. But I've still got to write. Well, two weeks is better than years. Why bitch when it's improvement?

But I've been thinking about it! I've been thinking a whole lot about writing!
So let's talk next story.

I'm thinking something positive, something uplifting. No dead Y'upik kids!
I want something Forrest Gumpy, heart tugging, life affirming. And I love Benjamin Button so I'd like something even Benjamin Buttony, which is actually quite Forrest Gumpy.

All right I've been thinking about some abandoned kid making good. He stays nice, decent. He doesn't hate everything. I hate lots of things, little things that happen every day, like getting gas or picking up dry cleaning. Or driving with other people on the road. But I don't want to hate these things. I want to be happy. It's hard for me to stay positive. I think about everything too much.

My character is going to be named Happy.
What title? Not something I need to decide now.
How about "Life is Warm and Buttery"

I love it! Maybe it will change but that's how we'll start.
"Life is Warm and Buttery" with Happy Munroe. That last name might change too.

CORK POPPING

All right! First short story written on the blog! Now to combine this on a word doc, polish, and submit for some reviews. Maybe even get published who knows?
It feels good, but this is just the first of a career. Not that I haven't written but this is new, writing is a priority, an essential part of my life. It's about time I got my fucking shit straight!

Well, I'll soon be back. This will get wrapped up and I'll start a new story. No violence in the next one. That's my goal, just a simple story about life, if there is such a thing.

Chapter 9: Eternal Sunset

Henry lifted his head gasping, spitting water over his beard. He thrust his back into the wall and stood up, dropping the shotgun. After a slow descent to a final water burial, Henry felt it come to rest on his feet, disarmed and useless. His eyes were heavy, almost numb, frozen, like the rest of him.

Gone was the panic and fury that had drained the last drops of his adrenaline. Henry was just a sick exhausted old man, not even an accountant. He was corpse boxed in with other corpses. Dead bodies floated about, bumping into each other like toy boats. One nameless victim stayed alone in a corner, dancing with himself caught in the current of a small whirlpool. It was a quiet party, not the attack Henry hallucinated before dozing off to dreams of a dead soldier.

The fight was over. Death waited, beckoning with a harp. Henry heard the music and wanted to follow. The old man now shivered furiously, his body forcing his muscles to quake for the sake of their own survival. But Henry didn't notice. He only noticed the sunset.

He strained his eyes to confirm it was real. Shadows lay across the rippling water across the trailer. A bug eyed man with a moustache and a hole in his head bobbed up and down, up in the sunlight and down in the shade. Henry didn't recognize him. He must have been a victim of Morgan Still.

Henry turned his back from the flooded party in his living room. The old man looked back out his window to the horizon of the bay. A piece of the sun had indeed crossed below the horizon. Night was coming. Daylight neared its end.

Tears, warm and salty, dribbled down the old man's cheeks. Ice pellets in his beard broke and melted in their path. "Beautiful," Henry whispered. He lifted his arms and stretched his back.

Henry made up what was left of his mind. The answer came so clearly the hypothermia couldn't blur it. Everything made sense. It was time to say goodbye. The party approached its ending. Henry didn't want to stay longer than he was welcome.

The old man lowered his chest back into the water and began to stroke his way forward. He spun mid stroke and settled on his back. His blackened toes wiggled and splashed in his boots. He took big strokes with his arms, paddling with his feet.

As Henry swam this farewell backstroke, he would pull in bodies as he passed, bodies he had slain. He collided with the lonely dancer and pulled him from the current. "Join the party," Henry humored and bade in a voice drowning in slushed spit.

His arm would wrap around an elbow, an ankle, a neck, and gently pull it inward, like a hug. He said good bye and released them. Good bye, Bavilla. Good bye Lee.

The twenty foot journey lasted almost an hour. Henry enjoyed his last moments wishing well to those he had hurt. At last, he arrived at his door step. He grabbed the door knob and pulled himself back upright.

Spots clouded his vision more than the shadows of a six month night. Drool flowed invisibly from his chapped, charred lips. Henry used the last of his strength to push the door open. And the flood took over from there.

The pressure of the stream burst into his back once it connected with the outside current. The water rammed Henry into the door, wedging himself stuck against the water rushing against the other side. The old man could only sit and drown, no fight left. But the water from the inside held its own and finally shoved the old man into the river.

He barely kept his balance as he moved, but maintained his head above water long enough to look back at his home. The bodies of the damned and the misunderstood started spilling out the windows as they buckled. A few of his old enemies even managed to chase him out the front door. The trailer was buckling from the weight and pressure of the flood. Henry had opened the door for them all.

One more glance to the sunset and his eyes slid shut with the night. Perhaps the smile was frozen like his beard. The dead accountant twirled in the meshing streams as he made his way to the sea. He danced alone which is how he wanted it. A soldier's life is a lonely one to lead.

Chapter 8: Another Second Chance

So many details had been recalled so many times. Henry went back over everything, even writing it all down to keep the scene as real as possible. Nothing would change what happened, but Henry pleaded for any sign or scheme that might have allowed him to overtake his attacker and emerge triumphant. Such a notion would let him maintain his arrogance as the greatest soldier ever to fight.
No matter how many times Henry re created the events in his head nor how accurate his recreation, he never convinced himself he had a chance. The odds were simply insurmountable. There was no defeating Morgan Still.

Probably the biggest giveaway Henry remembered was the heavy knocking of knuckles while Morgan spoke. There hadn't been much conversation before Henry was covered in blood, but Morgan never displayed anything but true calm. That morning, Morgan continued a steady tapping on his desk with both closed fists, quiet rhythmic beats, an unconscious physical relief of piping, boiling rage. The tapping continued all the way into his explosion like a fuse. And the polite, reserved mountain man revealed why he's a boss.

"How are the books, Henry?" Morgan asked without a smile. This proved another helpful detail Henry might have caught to prepare himself. Morgan always smiled when he asked about the books.

"Everything's lookin' up," Henry answered, his smile still prominent in response.

Henry had quickly grown to love his Alaska home and thanked Morgan for it all. Under Morgan he finally got the respect to which he was entitled. He had dinner with Morgan and his wife. He had been appointed recorder which meant he attended all important meetings with the boss. It might have been just to take notes, but he was on the front lines.

And most revealing of his rightful status was his acceptance as a cleaner, somebody who can get rid of a human problem. Henry had been sick with nerves when he confessed to the murder of Lee Bronavan. Regardless of his confidence, history had taught him that criminal industries don't like their accountants killing people.

But Morgan had appreciated the effort! He slapped Henry on the back and bought him dinner! When Henry added he all ready disposed of the corpse on some of his private land he had purchased up north, Morgan threw in a bonus check. It was all less work for him, just the way Henry saw it too.

Alaska made this possible. The lack of competition let Henry shine. Morgan made this possible. respected brains over muscle. Henry couldn't have been happier. He had made it home.

"I spoke to an old acquaintance for the first time in years last night," Morgan entered abruptly. "I mentioned your name and found out you're a dead man." Perhaps Henry had missed it being there since he arrived that morning, but the evil in Morgan's eyes at that moment pierced Henry's neck and crushed his throat.

Henry expected nothing and held no guilt. He could only catch his breath and ask, "What?"

Morgan's fists increased the speed of their tapping on the desk, more rage to vent. He looked down at them, knocking psycho-somatically, not wanting to face the liar that sat across from him. Facing Henry would make it too difficult not to kill him. Morgan wanted to have his say before killing anyone.
"You killed Steffi Mallimano, crashed his Jeep Cherokee off the Coronado bridge," a heavy breath interrupted his speech. "I worked side by side with Steffi comin' up. He was a good man."

Morgan sat facing his nervous fists. Henry didn't move and barely breathed. He quickly grew frightened with the idea that his happy life was about to change dramatically. Morgan looked back up to meet him. He straightened his slumping shoulders and regained his authoritarian posture.

"It's a shame I missed his funeral. That's what I get for not calling to check up on you," though his words blamed himself his eyes blamed Henry. "But since when do I have to check on a fucking accountant!" His fists stopped tapping and the rage exploded.

Morgan's desk was hand carved oak, massive and heavy, around 200 pounds. It was no match for the angry boss's power. Morgan thrust the desk forward with both powerful arms and shoulders, digging his boots in the floor to fuel the launch. The desk sailed into Henry, knocking him backward in his chair and onto the floor.

Morgan was at his side before he had a chance to stand. Henry almost choked on the steel toe of his boss's boot as it kicked in his mouth and lifted his head. Two teeth were swallowed and two fell to the floor. With the second kick, Morgan buried his boot in Henry's gut, forcing trails of blood through his lips.

"Steffi was gonna kill me!" Henry screamed in defense.

It fell on deaf ears. Morgan grabbed Henry's head and lifted him scrambling to his feet. One blow to the chin returned Henry to the floor, flat on his back. More fury exploded with this show of weakness. Morgan couldn't stand to see a man expose his belly in submission. Such behavior was intended for dogs not men. Morgan threw all his weight into his bootheel and drove it into Henry's groin.

The accountant's screams were silenced when Morgan lifted his head by the ears and rammed his knee into his face. Henry's nose evaporated in a shower of blood. One more drive and Morgan released his ears, allowing Henry to return to a fetal position.

"NO FIGHT?" Morgan boomed, "You kill MADE MEN and now you've got no fight? Just a fucking accountant after all!" Morgan began a series of bootheels to the back.

Morgan didn't want Henry unconscious. He stopped himself and looked down on the beaten heap. Forgiveness was a forbidden emotion to anyone but Mrs. Morgan Still. Mercy was not far behind, not absolutely forbidden, but certainly very exclusive. Morgan stood there, catching his own breath and permitting his rational brain to retake control. He sent the message he wanted to send. Now he wanted a solution.

Henry lay there feeling the blood pulsate from his face. It formed a pool around his head that started to reach his shoulders. Shock prevented feeling pain from his broken ribs, fractured jaw, nose, and eye socket. He stayed still, assuming playing dead as the best policy.

Morgan walked around the fallen body, deciding what move would be most beneficial. He certainly didn't agree with playing dead as the best policy.
"Get up!" he ordered. "Get up or I'll finish you off!"

Henry opened his unswollen eye and flipped to his hands and knees surprisingly fast. His ribs expanded as he stood and stifled what would have been a scream. His legs were relatively unharmed.

Morgan kept his distance and walked back behind his desk chair as he spoke. "Cal wants me to kill you. Said it's something he wanted done a long time ago." Morgan grabbed the desk and pulled it back to its original location. "But I don't think that's how you can serve me best. Be thankful there's so much room to hide in Alaska. Any other state I'd have to kill you."

Henry watched him and waited, not sure how to think or feel.

"I look at you different, all those jobs you did. Like how you killed Lee Bronavan by dropping that car battery on his head. I thought that was a smart way to make it look like an accident. Now I know it's just 'cause you're a coward, too afraid to face a man before you move to take his life." Morgan began to step forward but stopped himself. Henry took a step back in response.

"There's no way you'd get the better of a guy like Steffi Mallimano. Unless you pulled some cowardly stunt like driving a truck off a bridge. You cowardly son of a bitch!"

Morgan caught his voice rising a little too late. He reeled himself back in and let silence fill the room. He would not let his emotions control him. This was a business decision like everything else.

"Seeing as how a coward can't be trusted, and how you are a coward through and through, it would seem the most logical decision to snap your neck over my knee." A growl was almost audible when he spoke.
"But I thought long and hard about how I can get better use of someone who has shown their affinity to the dead. And I've found my answer."

Henry could only stand and hear his fate, his neck red from the blood streaking down it.

"You're gonna be my garbage man," Morgan started, revealing his closest expression to a smile that morning. "You're going to dig up every body I've buried since I've been here and take them all to join Lee Bronavan and the other men you killed when they weren't looking. If you don't have enough land for it all in your lot up north then you'll either buy some more or dig deeper."

Morgan began walking to Henry. He approached casually, without any masked rage. He straightened the desk properly, then took Henry's chair from the floor and returned it to its previous position. He used his boot to pull out a wrinkle in the rug underneath them.

"Make the bodies disappear like the money disappears. Then make yourself disappear," Morgan stopped just feet away from Henry. Calm still persisted and Henry expected no further violence. He listened intently to his orders, ignoring his heartbreak.

"Go run up to the Arctic Circle and hide out with the Eskimos," Morgan ordered. "Go buy some cheap trailer and stay a hermit so no one ever knows who you are or what you are. Go bury all these bodies in one big graveyard and then stay there the rest of your fucking life."

Morgan leaned forward and got close to Henry's face. "I'm playing God today and giving you your life back," he informed. "Don't make yourself regret it."

Morgan stood back and straightened his posture. He ran a hand through his hair and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. When he met Henry's eyes again, it seemed he would speak, but he thought otherwise. Echoes of his boot steps rang loudly as he walked around Henry to leave the room. Henry started to take a deep breath before his ribs cried out in agony to stop.

"Ronnie and Wes are waiting downstairs to take you digging. Don't make 'em have to come up and get you."

These were the last words his hero would say to him. Henry stood bleeding, wanting to die. But survival is a strong instinct. It can push a man to dig even as his bones continue to splinter.

Chapter 7: Closing the Graveyard

Henry had pulled Lee's corpse back to his spot by the window. Hypothermia drove his senility. The old bat fully expected his house to set adrift at any moment. He waited for it. He wanted to look out the window as he floated down the Ninglick river to join the Hazen Bay. And he still had a part of his brain that whispered how the water temperature would kill him long before joining the bay. Henry was having too much fun to listen to such pessimism.

Henry had grabbed a shotgun from its perch on the refrigerator and set it on a drawer next to the window. There was almost a foot left before water would cover the surface. Time was running out. Henry had no idea how his home appeared from the outside but wanted to be prepared if the government decided to try their luck forcing an evacuation. The thought hadn't disturbed him so much when he was alone. But now he had a guest, the first in decades. No one would break up their party.

He propped Lee on a chair facing the coastline and dropped a VCR on his lap to keep him in it. It was an old VCR, heavy. It did the trick and Lee sat snugly with no threat of drifting away. Henry pulled his own chair next to him. The water met his waistline sitting. But Henry no longer shivered with the chill. His body temperature had dropped significantly to numb his legs. Henry was shutting down.

Henry looked at his guest and smiled. "It's good to have you here, Lee."
Lee still had his withered cowboy hat on, no longer frozen to his skull but dripping with melted tundra. He wore his stained flannel, still dark with mud. Not much changed for being dead over twenty years. A frozen grave preserves the body better than embalming. The trick is never thawing out.

Henry's mind conjured hallucinations, an effect of the brain losing power. At first sight, Lee appeared with the friendly smile he remembered. Now, up close without the surprise, Henry saw his hat flattened and wet, Lee's head crushed and flattened underneath it. The right side of his head bent at the temple and crammed into a sharp 90 degree angle from the second blow to the skull he had received. Henry allowed himself to remember what happened. And the party began to die.

The things he had done. Old Henry Castle turned away from his mangled comrade and stared back out the window to the water that was taking his life. The view was so peaceful, so private. Newtok had given him exactly what he wanted. He had exactly what he needed here, Isolation. The old man considered these truths to justify what he done. Facing his victim brought guilt that would kill him. But the old man was dying anyway. It was time to bring the guilt.

"Lee," Henry started, still looking out at the horizon, "I truly hope you found peace. I'm the one that put you under." Henry inhaled deeply then turned to face his victim.
"I did you wrong, Lee, and I'm sorry. I did all the wrong things for the wrong reasons. I know I got a lot comin' to me."
Henry looked back to the sea and considered this. "Is that why you're here, Lee?" the paranoia asked, "Are you here to give me what's comin?" The old man's eyes were wide with lunacy. He grabbed the corpse and looked intently into his its lifeless eyes. The VCR on his lap tumbled and sank to the floor, never to be recycled.

Splashing sounds of bubbles bursting erupted from behind. Henry spun to view another body emerge from a melting grave. It was yet another painful ambush from history. Senility subsided and Henry briefly regained his senses. He felt frozen for the first time in hours. His feet ached from dying and his testicles rang with fire. Starving muscles began to jolt and contract.

A young boy bobbed up and down in the rising waters, his stone crystal hands reaching for a grip beneath the stream. Henry forgot about Lee and stood to face this regret. Tears stood in his eyes and showered his mind.

The boy was Yup'ik, a town native. He aged twelve years and simmered with likewise mischief. Henry Castle, an isolated white man from the states, was the perfect target for the mischievous pranks of boys. The boy's mother named him Bavilla Askoak, but Henry never knew that. His mother took good care of her boy amongst grave Arctic odds. His father began training him to hunt. While a boy still finds time for fun, Bavilla found the wrong place.

Henry couldn't bring himself to remember his bitterness, the rage and defiance that drove him to murder such a young boy. He couldn't admit the predator he had been, trapping the boy and burying him while he slept. Henry had to shut his eyes and remember. The jaded bastard deserved to remember.

Some graffiti and a broken fence had cost Bavilla his life. Henry baited him with kindness and drugged him to sleep. The he locked him in a frozen cellar buried under the trailer. The sleeping boy was stuffed in there with the other frozen dead. If he ever woke up Henry didn't hear it. It was no small effort to lift solid blocks of earth and open the buried door. But such a secret had to be sound proof. It should have been water proof as well.

The old man dipped into the water and glided across his sunken living room to the boy. He was bawling, begging for forgiveness. "I owe you my life!" he cried.
He plowed a beeline for Bavilla, knocking drifting furniture out of his way. His boot landed heavy and a piece of footing fell out from under him. His head submerged as he dropped with the floor.

Bubbles began to explode throughout the water as the remaining structures of flooring collapsed in a chain reaction. Henry opened his eyes under water and saw Bavilla floating only a few feet before him. The boy seemed to be smiling with his eyes closed, maybe having a pleasant dream. Henry could only hint at this forgiveness for a moment before returning to the surface to breathe.

Large clumps of mud rose to the surface, earth breaking free of the ice. Henry was floating. No foundation remained. More splashing bursts surrounded him as more corpses thawed to freedom. Some were the buried and others were hallucinations. All were victims of Henry's hand, some died as jobs and some, like Bavilla, died as a consequence of crossing the path of sociopathic recluse.

His buried crypt had swung open with the flood waters. His perfect hiding spot washed away with centuries of ice. Hands, heads, backs, and feet all playfully broke the water's surface and lingered in Henry's home. The anxiety and hypothermia resulted in gray and block spots blurring Henry's perspective of the resurrection.

The end was here. It was judgment day. Forget the government. Henry was under attack from those he had murdered. His old lungs mustered all the scream they could as the rotten son of a bitch realized his hour of vindication was at hand.

He fled in panic, swimming back to the window and Lee's floating body, now face down in the water. Henry slammed against the wall and grabbed the shotgun from the shelf. He pumped the magazine and felt ready to collapse from the effort.

Back against the wall, his hat fallen and floating in the water beside him, Henry faced his home that had become his Hell. Dead enemies and brutal regrets danced and swirled in the flood rising over him. Henry held the gun tight and waited for a direct attack. Fear made shiver what the icy water could not.

It had been a long time since Henry Castle experienced such a true sense of fear for his life. The one desired result he always achieved in his passive assassinations was a lack of danger and fear. There had only been one instance when his death had been clutched in another man's fist. It happened twenty two years ago, just before moving to Newtok.

First Steps on the Moon: Part 2

Henry welcomed the handshake with his most confident grip and followed Morgan inside. Lee stayed close behind Henry, too close. He stepped on Henry's heel, peeling off the back of his shoe. Henry stumbled and turned around.

Lee blushed, something Henry rarely saw people do.
"Excuse me," Lee apologized, but not to Henry. His eyes looked upward to his boss who had also turned with the commotion.
"You in a hurry today, Lee?" Morgan asked with evident displeasure.
"No sir, Mr. Still," Lee almost stuttered. He began brushing off Henry's coat as if he had spilled a drink. Henry held up his hand to forgive him and began walking back with Morgan. This time, Lee gave all the space he could without losing them.

The house was constructed entirely of wood. Grand fur rugs scattered over the floors. There were sun light windows in the massive ceiling through which the Alaskan sky looked as blue as the Pacific from the California shore. There were no hunting trophies, no stuffed Grizzlies or Elk, something Henry expected to see a lot of when he got to Alaska. Only the rugs suggested wildlife. Perhaps Still figured there was plenty of wildlife outside.

Instead, there was plane memorabilia. Model planes filled cabinets and a real one seater place hung from the ceiling. Books on aviation filled a shelf on a desk and littered the coffee table.
"You like to fly?" Henry asked as they continued walking through the enormous living room.

Morgan slowed to take in his treasures but didn't stop walking.
"Been flyin' since I was 18. I used to have to pay a thousand dollars per per flight hour when I wanted to take a joyride. Not up here. The sky's as free as it was when it was just the Eskimos."
Morgan looked back to meet Henry's eye. Lee skipped a step to try to listen.
"This whole state is like a whole other country. It's the perfect place for business. Nobody here to stick their hands in your pockets." Morgan winked and added, "We almost don't need math wizards up here. No need to hide what people ain't lookin' for!" Morgan bellowed a laugh that drowned out the politeness of Henry's.
Lee slapped his side and howled, "Ain't it the truth!"

As they neared Still's office he regained his serious demeanor.
"It won't last long. This is 1985. People will get it together and learn the game. If nothing else more of us will come up here and ruin it."
He looked at Lee just before stepping into his office door. "Ain't that right Lee?" He asked with a smirk. The previous blush still stung on his errand boy's cheeks. Lee could only respond stupidly, "I'm sorry Mr. Still, I don't catch your meaning."

Boss Still looked at Henry who stood between them. "Lee agrees with me about new people coming up here and ruining the place. So don't tell invite any friends."
"Come on, Boss!" Lee teased with a concerned smile. Still didn't look at Lee again before walking into his office. He only called his command. "Lee, those new tires got shipped in this morning. Go on out to the garage and change 'em out."

Henry made sure to look at Lee as he stepped into the office with Still. Lee stood and watched like an abandoned puppy. It gave Henry exactly the satisfaction he expected. Quickly, Lee's senses returned and he walked away before Morgan's voice had to boom. He closed the door behind Henry before he left.

"Have a seat," Still offered. He had a leather couch and any numbers of plush, cushioned chairs on rolling wheels. Henry chose a chair and rolled it before Still's desk as he sat. The bust of a buck protruded from the wall above Still's desk, the only hunting detail Henry would find there.

"I imagine Lee talked your ears off and cackled that horrible laugh of his for the entire ride," Morgan inquired. Henry just shrugged and shook it off. "He was very friendly, took my bags and all. He didn't have to do that." Henry shared.
"Yes he did have to do that," Still corrected. "Lee's loyal, but I know he don't like our type of business coming in from the states. A lot of folks are like that up here. They don't want their secret leaked."
Still looked up to a large triangular window that hung in the wall. Thick trees waved in the summer wind. Still's lips curved at the edges.
"I don't blame 'em. I love the place," Still asserted.

He looked at Henry who was rubbing his glasses on his handkerchief. "I'd like to keep things as they are myself, but I know it just ain't possible." Still said with sadness. Emotion danced through this stone man's face. Next was enthusiasm.
"I'll tell ya this and I'm sure a numbers man can appreciate it. Buy land." Still leaned forward as if someone might hear such a secret. "I got acres everywhere, some in giant plots, some spread out. If I ever need to hide no one would find me. If I don't need to hide, which I don't plan to need, it'll just be an investment that goes up in value. Land's cheap here. And there's lots of it. Buy all you can." With that, Still sat back in his seat and scratched his stubbly chin.

Henry had his suitcases at his feet. Still sat in his own thoughts, allowing silence and conern for his guest. After a full minute, Still continued their discussion.
"Now, about our business. Aside from all my griping about the tourists I'm always glad to get new help from the states. I'll take all I can get. Nobody up here can run anything but a chainsaw."

Henry returned to his comfort zone when it came time to discuss his expertise. He liked his boss. He liked him a lot. Henry's sinister mind all ready began orchestrating a path to his favor. But Henry was smart enough to play modest.
"Like I said on the phone, when Steffi mentioned the action up here I couldn't get it out of my head." Henry put his heart into it. "I've been under a microscope my entire career. If it's not the IRS it's a damn corporate auditor. You'd think those guys would figure it out and get off my back! It used to drive me nuts! Not to mention I had to keep the books going."

The friendly curved tips of Still's mouth had disappeared. Henry noticed and changed his angle.
"I want to go for some quiet, some space, somewhere I can build something, make my own name," Henry steered carefully not to lose himself, "There's too many guys in the city, too many folks to get in the way." Henry made sure he finished looking Boss Still in the eye. "I want to plant some roots here."

The curves of his lips came back and Still leaned forward, shoulders hunched and hovering over the desk. He rubbed his knuckles and looked genuine. Henry thought he knew what genuine looked like.
"How is Cal?" he asked.
Henry did his best to stop his eyes from widening. Still knew Cal? Steffi hadn't mentioned it. Would Cal investigate Henry's abrupt departure? He was just an accountant.
"Cal's a great guy," Henry beamed. "He was always fair. That means everything to me."
It sounded like Still hadn't spoke with Cal. Henry hoped it wasn't a trick.

Still smiled fully, "Cal and I go way back. But we ain't talked for years. That's better for both of us." Still allowed a laugh and Henry followed. Still cleared his mind and got down to the books.

"I don't know where to start," he said. "I've got some stuff on computer disks but I ain't the best at keeping that organized."
Henry waved his flattened palm to show calm. "I'm very good with computers."
"Great!" Still brightened, "That's wonderful news! 'Cause I've been havin' Lee write down everything in notebooks. His writing is about impossible to follow. I've been reading the computer manual trying to figure this shit out myself." Frustration filled his face with these thoughts.

Henry closed his eyes and shook his head in cool, "No problem, Mr. Still. I'll get it all straightened out. Notebooks are no good. They're too easy to read." This was going to be easier than Henry thought.
"Please," Still corrected, "Call me Morgan."

He stood up and began walking around the desk to Henry's chair. "Yes, notebooks are way too easy to read," Still agreed. "That's what you'll need to do first." He stopped once he reached Henry's side. Henry just stayed in his chair and looked up to him.
"But I will apologize," Morgan continued, "You're going to have to sit with Lee and go through every transaction he recorded for the last eight months. You'll be earning your pay early." He smiled and patted Henry's shoulder. "Like I said, Lee's a necessity, not a choice. I'll be glad to send him back to a fishing boat once I can find better help."

Henry contained both his pride and admiration. He heard his boss give him two different jobs. His first job was to clean up the books. The second was to clean up the staff. Well, maybe Morgan hadn't explicitly asked him to do something about Lee. But Henry wanted to build something, make his own name. He wanted to plant some roots.