Page 5 of Starved Until Sunset

John Burnwell poked his big head out the door and barked, “Bower, Singleton. Get up here.”

“What’d we do now?” Cody grumbled.

“Maybe we’re getting raises.”

Cody snorted. He hung the truck keys on a peg board at the bottom of the steps, then led the way up to the office. They stood looking at John as he wedged himself behind his desk inside the tiny space.

“You guys find much roadkill out on 118?”

“The usual,” Cody said. “Few deer. Some raccoons.”

“Tired of it yet?” John looked between them, a cold, mean glint in his eye. Demetrius was reminded, not for the first or last time, of Cody’s nickname for him: John the Bastard. Demetrius had heard some talk down at Margie’s that John’s wife had cancer—the word always spoken in a whisper—but no one knew what kind.

“We’ve smelled better,” Cody said.

John lifted his chin in Demetrius’s direction. “What about you?”

“If there’s something else needing to be done, I wouldn’t be heartbroken.”

“Wouldn’t be heartbroken.” John shook his head, seemed about to say something, but held it back. Demetrius figured it was some kind of gay slur that was probably flashing in bright neon inside his brain. “Here’s an early trick or treat gift for you two. Tomorrow, I want you to take the cherry out and decorate the streetlights on Main for Halloween.”

While the job sounded a hell of a lot better than scraping up roadkill, Demetrius still had to keep from making a face. This was accomplished by reminding himself that working at the DPW provided them with steady paychecks and health care. It didn’t matter that he hated having anything to do with the ‘cherry’, which was what the DPW team called the truck with a cherry picker basket on a hydraulic lift. They used it to change burned out street lights, fix traffic signals, trim trees, and anything else that required them to be any height off the ground. Demetrius wasn’t a fan of heights, so he didn’t like being in the bucket. And even though Cody didn’t mind being in the basket and up high, Demetrius didn’t have, as Cody called it, a ‘gentle touch’ when it came to working the controls.

“Downtown decorations?” Cody said. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess that new downtown development group they established last year decided we need to decorate for every major holiday.” John sat back and scratched his belly. “Never thought of Halloween as a major holiday, but ever since…” He waved a hand and moved in closer to the desk again, dropping his gaze. “Well, you know.”

Demetrius knew John was alluding to either Nicolae and his attempt to unleash an army of werewolves within the town or the zombies from that past summer. Of course, he and Cody were inextricably tied to all of it, although surprisingly few people knew all the details.

“Anyway, the downtown group and the yahoos at the parks department are going to put on some damn shop and treat party or something like that on Halloween, which will include a costume contest. They’re predicting a lot more visitors this year, based on internet chat rooms and such.”

There was no good way to explain to John the Bastard that internet chat rooms were pretty much extinct, so Demetrius kept quiet. He wasn’t too surprised to learn their town’s reputation was pulling in visitors for Halloween.

“Decorations are at City Hall. Pick ‘em up first thing and get as many done as you can.” John fished a sheet of paper out of the pile of papers on his desk. He held it at arm’s length and squinted. “Black and orange garland with purple and orange twinkle lights. What the loving fuck? They should plug into the outlets at the top of the lamp posts. Oh yeah, and there’re some fucking glitter spiderwebs to hang from the crossbars as well.” He made a face and tossed the paper on top of the pile. “You two can figure it out between you. Now get the fuck out of here. I’m not approving overtime for either of you.”

“See ya,” Cody said before following Demetrius out of the office and down the steps.

Shrieky Pete had departed, and in the shadows under the steps, the empty chairs surrounded the table like wolves trying to take down an ancient moose. Their steps echoed around the wide open space of the garage as they headed toward the time clock. Decades of dirt and grease caked its plastic cover, and a crack spiderwebbed out from a bottom corner. Since their first day, Demetrius had wondered if some employee years ago had been so pissed about punching in late, he’d literally punched the clock. He’d never had the courage or interest to ask about it.

Outside, the evening was mild, the sun just out of sight but still painting the clouds orange and yellow. He’d driven that morning, so he walked to the driver’s side of the truck. They both stripped out of their coveralls and stowed them in the back. Wearing cargo shorts and t-shirts, they got in the truck and Demetrius started the engine. Before he could pull out of the space, loud music started up from not too far away, followed quickly by the rough growl of a motorcycle. The music volume bumped up, sending peals of shrieking Christian praise out into the evening.

“Good Lord,” Cody said.

“Pretty much the gist of it.”

Pete revved the motorcycle engine a few times, the music blaring from a Bluetooth boombox strapped to his handlebars. After another couple of engine revs, he put the bike in gear and roared off into the night, the music trailing behind like a cloud of religious zeal exhaust. He wore just an American flag do-rag and no helmet, and Demetrius wondered if Pete had decided the good Lord would save him from brain damage if he crashed.

“Bye Shrieky Pete.” Cody gave a wave with his middle finger up. “Thanks for forcing your shitty music on the rest of us.”

Demetrius put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot. Cody slouched in the passenger seat, one big foot turned on its side, his long legs spread open. He looked down at his phone, scrolling through a social media channel, but apparently didn’t have the attention span for it, because he soon dropped the phone in his lap and looked out the windshield at the road.

“This is good, right?” Cody said. His voice was deep and quiet in the darkness gathering in the cab of the truck. “We’ve got health insurance, and we’re paid every two weeks.”

“According to the general consensus, it’s a good thing.”

Cody put his head back and looked at him. “I miss our office.”

Demetrius gave him a quick smile before looking back at the road. The one traffic light in town had turned red, of course, and he slowed to a stop. “Me, too.”