Chapter 43

43

Most of the patrons out in front of The Forge stuck around for a little while, but after ten minutes or so, some came over to Scotty, paying him in cash or telling him they'd square things up later, before heading for their cars.

We would find out later these wise folks who left were the lucky ones.

They were the last ones to get out right under the wire before it would all begin.

After they were gone there were just five of us left standing there: the two construction guys Brooklyn and Papa Bear, and Scotty, Daisy and me.

Even the chef and the young waitress had gone, and we all stood rooted, looking east up the dark of Main Street like the diehard remnants of a crowd waiting for some Fourth of July fireworks to start.

I looked up the deserted length of Main Street. The grease pencil ghosts and headstones on the plate glass of the stores suddenly didn't seem so harmless now, did they?

"What in the hell is this?" said Scotty as we still stood there in the cold out in front of the restaurant.

"Look. The lights are on over the river," Daisy said, pointing away from the town, west of the bridge by the reservoir.

"Must be a black-out just here in town, I guess," Scotty said.

"Duh, you really think so?" said Brooklyn as he raised the bottle of Corona he'd taken outside with him to his lips.

That's when we heard the commotion, and we all turned toward Main Street in front of us.

We watched as down the middle of the dark street came a man, a big man running fast.

"Is that Big Joe?" Scotty said.

We all seemed spellbound for a moment as we watched. He was coming at us at top speed, his lanky arms pumping. Even at a distance you could hear the loud chug of his breath. It was like he was doing the hundred-yard dash at a football tryout.

"Help!" Big Joe suddenly screamed. "Help! They're killing everyone! They're killing everyone."

"What?" Scotty said.

We all saw it then a split second later.

I heard it because I knew the sound. But the others just saw it.

From up the rise of Main Street, came the soft clack-clack-clack of suppressed gunfire and with it, a gush of blood blossomed at Big Joe's throat.

He was still running when another soft clack-clack-clack came and he tottered forward, trying to keep his balance. But he couldn't do it. The big man went down in a headlong face-plant so hard he actually bumped up off the asphalt, before he skidded to a stop in a kind of rag doll tumble against the gutter.

"What, what in the world?" said Scotty in shock.

"Oh, my—" Daisy cried. "He's dead! Big Joe's dead!"

I grabbed Daisy and steered her back for the front door of The Forge.

"Everyone back into the restaurant! Now, now, now!" I said.