Charlaine Harris - Day Shift

The Rev and Diederik looked completely at home in their own world just at the moment.

As Joe watched, the older man turned to look at the boy and said something to him, something very serious. The boy nodded, looking nervous, looking excited. He was even taller than the day before, Joe realized. He looked as old as Dillon, the high school junior who bussed at Home Cookin.

That led Joe to think about the Home Cookin family. “Chuy, I have to go talk to Teacher and Madonna,” he said.

Chuy said, “Sure. I’m waiting to hear back from our wanderers. Hey, take Rasta, so he’ll get some exercise.”

Joe put Rasta on his leash, and the little dog danced around, anxious to go on a walk. The sidewalk was hot for Rasta’s feet, so Joe carried him most of the way but put the dog down to take advantage of a little strip of dirt between the sidewalk and the street. He let Rasta have a few happy moments of sniffing and peeing before they continued on their short way.

As Joe pushed open the glass door, he realized he could not remember ever entering Gas N Go twice in consecutive days. Teacher was making change for a customer who’d bought gas, and when the rancher had climbed back into his pickup and pulled out onto the Davy highway, Teacher said, “What an honor! What’s up, Joe?”

“Close early tonight,” Joe said.

“What? Come again?”

“Close before dark. Go home. Make sure Madonna and Grady are inside. Lock your doors. Don’t go out. Tonight, and the next two nights.”

“What’s up?” Teacher wasn’t as surprised to be given this message as he would have been a year ago. And he didn’t question Joe’s word.

“Will you do this?” he asked.

“Yeah, Joe. I’ll do it. Do I need to get my rifle out?”

Joe sighed heavily. “If you don’t go out, you won’t need it,” he said. “Will you tell Madonna, or do I need to go over to the restaurant?”

“She’ll take this better if it comes from you.”

Joe thought that was an odd thing to say, because as far as he knew, Madonna and Teacher had a companionable marriage, but he wasn’t going to question Teacher any more than Teacher had questioned him. He nodded and left, going straight across the road to the hotel and walking west to the restaurant, taking advantage of another patch of shade to let Rasta get a bit of exercise. Madonna and Dillon were having a conversation about the nature of true barbecue, a discussion that could go on forever, especially in Texas. Madonna was sitting on one of the stools cutting up tomatoes in a leisurely way, and Dillon was wiping down the plastic envelopes that enclosed the menus.

Their heads turned to the door simultaneously when the bell chimed, and Madonna cast an anxious glance to one of the booths, where Grady was stretched out asleep. Dillon, who was always glad to see a customer, smiled in a surprised kind of way, because it was before five o’clock.

“Hey, Mr. Joe,” he said. “You want a table? Or you want to sit up here with us? I can bring you some iced tea.”

Joe shook his head.

Madonna put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “Can I fix you something to take home for supper? Roast beef isn’t ready yet, but I can come up with something.”

“No, thanks. What time have you been closing?” Joe asked.

“By eight or maybe as late as eight thirty,” she said. “Every now and then someone will linger that late.”

“Close earlier tonight. Please.”

“Klan going to come burn a cross?” She bared her teeth in a smile designed to show the boy, Dillon, that she was joking. Just a little bit. When Joe didn’t smile back, she dropped her own quickly. “Seriously, Joe?” she said.

“Yes. I’ve already talked to Teacher.”

She glanced over at her sleeping son. “Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll close by seven thirty at the latest.”

He was pleased that she didn’t ask more questions. “Seven thirty will be okay,” he said. Sunset wasn’t until eight thirty p.m. or thereabouts, but it would be wise to err on the side of caution. “Dillon, you drove your truck in, right?”

Dillon looked at Joe as though he’d grown another head. Of course, Joe thought. He’s a rural kid. He’s been driving since he was thirteen, probably. Now Joe remembered that Dillon had saved up to buy a secondhand Chevy 4x4, and he kept it as clean and polished as a vehicle in dusty Texas could be. “Of course you did,” Joe said, with an apologetic smile. “When the restaurant closes, please go straight home.” The Braithwaite ranch was ten miles due south of Midnight.

The boy’s face was full of a thousand questions, but Joe knew if he answered one, he’d be there for ten more minutes. He was ready with a credible story. “A customer in the shop told me he’d seen a mountain lion on his property right outside of town. He said it was wounded, might attack people. I think we need to take serious precautions until they track it down.”

That seemed to make sense to Dillon. To forestall any more questions from the boy, Joe nodded at both of them and left. He hesitated once outside, picking up Rasta and scratching the little dog’s head. Rasta was panting but still glad to be outside with his human.

“What now?” Joe said to the dog. He’d just thought of Fiji when he heard her call his name. He looked far past her down the sidewalk and saw Mr. Snuggly sitting on the edge of her yard looking after her. When Fiji came up to him, he saw that her face was tight with anxiety. Though she was wearing a short denim skirt and a tank top, she was flushed and breathing heavily.

“Tonight,” she said. “Something’s happening tonight.”

“Yes. I was just telling Madonna and Teacher to be inside early. I was going to call you.”

“I went over to the chapel with some cookies for the Rev and Diederik. The Rev wouldn’t come to the door, though I know they were in there. There’s only that big ceiling fan in there, no air-conditioning. Silence. And I got a shivery feeling.”

“Good thing you trust your feelings,” Joe said approvingly. Fiji tried to smile back.

“Something’s going to happen to the boy tonight,” she said. “I think so, at least. He’s been growing so much, and he seems so different from other boys, anyway. I don’t know what it is, but I know he won’t be the same after it.”

Joe nodded. “Don’t forget to tell your cat,” he said. He’d put the dog down, and Rasta was prancing around Fiji’s ankles, smelling the cat on her legs and shoes.

“Mr. Snuggly seems to know. Better than I do. He’s already told me to get a litter box ready for tonight. Normally, he just goes outside.”

“We’ll take Rasta out at the last minute and then hope for the best,” Joe said. “Remember, Fiji. I know you are strong, and I know you are powerful. But no running outside to pick some last-minute herbs for supper or to stand in the moonlight to cast a spell.”

“Do I seem that scatterbrained to you?” Fiji shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I promise, I won’t try to rescue anyone. Have you talked to Bobo?”

Joe shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you, if you have time. I need to get Rasta home. The heat’s too much with all his fur.”

“Okay, I’ll stop in,” she said. “I think Manfred and Olivia have been gone today? You’ve texted them?”

“They’ve been told,” Joe assured her.

“Bye then, and thanks. Stay safe, Joe.” She glanced both ways and then ran diagonally across the intersection and up the steps to the old door to the pawnshop.

It was gloomy inside as it almost always was, and she stopped to get her sight back.

“Hey, Feej,” Bobo called from the back of the store, which was much larger than it looked on the outside. She began fumbling her way back. By the time she reached him she could see.