Jeff Brackett - Half Past Midnight

“Nope. We still don’t have enough stock to warrant slaughtering any of the kids. We need to let them breed another year or so. Maybe then.”

Wayne sighed. “Well, Connie will be happy to get these. Same arrangement?”

I nodded. “You process them and keep half.”

Wayne stuck out his hand. “Deal. You want the skins from the last batch?”

“If they’re ready.”

“Just give me a second.” Wayne stepped back into his shop.

A moment later, his wife came out to greet us. “Hi, Leeland, Megan.” She turned a special smile to Zachary. “My goodness, Zachary, you get bigger every time I see you. What are you doing in town?”

Zach loved the attention. “We’re shoppin’ for Mom’s birthday.”

Connie turned to me. “It’s Deb’s birthday?”

“Day after tomorrow. But there’s no need waiting to the last minute.”

“Two days before her birthday isn’t last minute?”

I raised my hands. “This one’s just a matter of timing.”

Wayne came out and saved me from further explanation as he handed a smaller bundle back to Megan. “Here you go. Four skins of the eight you brought in last month. Want to examine them?”

“No need.” I leaned in close. “I know where you live.”

He and his wife both chuckled.

“Thanks Wayne, Connie. See you in class tomorrow?”

“We’ll be there.”

As we headed toward our next stop, Megan tugged my sleeve. “Dad, you mind if I stop by the library?”

“I don’t see why not. What are you after?”

“Nothing really. I just kinda wanted to look around.” Her voice trailed off as she looked away evasively.

“She wants ta go see An-drew!” Zach squealed. Megan flipped a quick kick at the seat of his pants. “Ow! Dad, Megan kicked-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But she-”

I pointed a finger in his face. “Not a word, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t pick fights, and you won’t get hurt.” I took the bundle from Megan and handed it to Zachary, while pretending not to notice the glare he shot at his older sister. “All right, Megan, meet us at Sarah’s shop in an hour.”

She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Thanks Dad.” And she threaded her way into the crowd.

I watched her fade into the mass of market-goers for a moment before taking my son by the hand. “Okay Zach, now tell me about this Andrew kid.”

Zachary grinned conspiratorially. “He’s not a kid, Dad. He’s the same age as Megan.”

I smiled. “That old, huh?”

“Uh huh. He’s Mr. Eric’s son.”

“Eric Petry? From the morning classes?”

“Yes, sir. I think that’s where they met.” He leaned close to me. “I caught ‘em kissin’ in the woods last week.”

I was definitely surprised. Megan had never let on that she had a boyfriend. But I knew Eric and recalled meeting his son a few times. He had seemed a likeable enough young man. And Eric was a good friend. He was one of the town’s police officers, and a third-degree black belt in Shotokan karate. We had met him through the self-defense classes I had volunteered to Jim Kelland.

Most mornings, we taught a growing number of Bruce Lee wannabes in the clearing behind Amber’s house at sunrise. Lessons usually lasted two to three hours, depending on the number of people who attended and how difficult the day’s activities were.

When we had first begun the classes after the last of the burials, it had been just Megan and me teaching. Four of Kelland’s men had come by for training. We taught them exercises to stretch the tendons and ligaments in their arms and legs, and showed them the proper way to do some basic katas , or forms, to strengthen their legs and improve their balance.

Then, we showed them some of what they really wanted to learn: the actual self-defense aspect of the arts-the innumerable joint locks of small circle jujitsu, basic grappling techniques, and the first twelve variations of Kali’s angles of attack. They had been impressed enough to convince others to join.

Word of the Kindley Massacre-their name, not mine-had spread quickly after the article in the Chronicle and, as other attacks occurred, people began trickling in by twos and threes. Eric had shown up the second week to volunteer his skills, and we were soon teaching anywhere from fifteen to fifty people each day.

While I considered the local police officers to be the core of the classes, there were also housewives, grocers, shop owners, and mechanics-to use a common cliche, people from all walks of life. I wished my school in Houston had been so full.

And sometime during all that, Andrew had evidently gone from being one of the students to being my daughter’s boyfriend. It had happened under my very nose, and I’d been completely oblivious.

I sighed and rubbed Zach’s head affectionately. “Well, your sister’s growing up. You’ll be better off staying out of her business.”

He furrowed his brows and turned to look up at me. “Is she gonna get married and move away?”

“I’m sure she will, eventually. But probably not for a while yet.”

He grinned. “When she does, can I have her room?”

I laughed aloud. “We’ll see about that later.”

“When?”

“Later.”

“Later when?”

“When she moves out. For now, though, we have more shopping to do.”

We shouldered through the crowd and eventually made our way to a darkened shop with an open front door. Walking in, I heard the methodical sharp tinging of metal on metal from the back room, and I shouted, “Travis, you here?” The tinging stopped, and a shuffling took its place. Seconds later, a white-haired, bespectacled head peered around the doorframe.

“That you, Leeland?”

“Yep.”

“Gimme a sec, an’ I’ll get your order.”

I heard more shuffling, and Travis came limping out of the back carrying several items. He casually tossed me a pair of hand-tooled goatskin boots. They were loosely cut, and gusseted to adapt for wear under or over pants. I looked at the bottom and laughed aloud. “Tire treads? Really?”

Travis nodded. “Plenty of it around, and it’s made to last with two tons of metal ridin’ on it. Figured it’d last with yer ornery ass walkin’ on it for a while.”

I held one boot to the bottom of my foot to check the size. “Looks perfect.”

“Well, that ain’t no way to check it. Put th’ damn thangs on. I wanna see how they fit, too.”

I wasted no time skinning off my worn out tennis shoes. I was embarrassed by the condition of my socks, but didn’t let it stop me as I slid my legs into the calf-high leather boots. I wove the leather thong through the grommets on either side of the folded gusset and tied it over my pant legs. Standing tentatively, I took a few steps.

“Well? How do they fit?”

After walking around the room, I finally turned back to him. “They’re a little stiff, but they’ll wear in soon enough. I think they’ll do, Travis.”

He harrumphed at me. “’Course they’ll do. I don’t make crap. That’s why you come to me.”

“That’s true enough. You have the rest of it?”

He pointed to the bench, and I walked my new boots over to see the other items. Travis glanced over at Zachary. “Yer daddy made you a knife yet, son?”

Zachary mumbled something.

“Sorry, son, but ah couldn’t hear ya.”

“Yes sir, but I lost it.” He hung his head as he said it.

Travis looked at me, and I nodded.

“Well, mebbe this’ll help ya keep track better.” He tossed something to Zachary. The boy caught it and yelped in delight when he realized what he held. I had made him a pair of throwing knives that Travis had fitted with arm sheaths.