“Uh, sure.”
Michael cleared his throat and recited:
Because I could not stop for Death–
He kindly stopped for me–
The Carriage held but just Ourselves–
And Immortality.
We slowly drove–He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility–
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess–in the Ring–
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain–
We passed the Setting Sun–
Or rather–He passed Us–
The Dews drew quivering and Chill–
For only Gossamer, my Gown–
My Tippet–only Tulle–
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground–
The Roof was scarcely visible–
The Cornice–in the Ground–
He broke off as a black pickup truck loomed out of the darkness on the side of the road. Michael pulled up behind it and parked. Jimbo opened his door and got out, keeping his gun trained on Andersen.
Michael turned to Andersen, who was pale and sweating. “Get out.”
“W-what are you going to do to me?”
“It will be worse if you don’t get out now.”
Andersen opened his door with a shaking hand. He launchedhimself out of the car and ran into the swamp, splashing and stumbling.
Jimbo was ready. He fired two quick shots. Andersen stumbled and fell face down in the shallow water. He didn’t move.
Michael watched with satisfaction as Jimbo picked up the shell casings without needing to be told. “Strip the body and stake it someplace the gators will find it. Burn the clothes and the suitcase. Leave the car near the Greyhound terminal. I’ll pick you up there in an hour.”
Jimbo nodded and got to work. Michael climbed into his pickup and started the engine. He smiled as he drove off and finished the Emily Dickinson poem:
