In Hell: When Love Kills A Small Town Mystery

Chapter 13

Deck was coughing and tugging on Lori's arm.

"Get out. Get out, now!"

Lori's brain was foggy. She struggled to make sense of Deck's commands. He was clutching her hand, dragging her out of the small building.

The smoke was thick and burned her lungs.

"Oh, no."

He dragged her screaming out the door. Deck threw her down on the ground. She hit hard. The wind flew from her lungs with a grunt. After a few moments, she recovered. They both sat and watch the shed go up like kindling.

Lori was crying.

"What are you crying about?" Deck yelled. "You lost some rags. Your bra and panties got incinerated? Boo hoo. We could have died."

"I lost my money," she said, softly.

"What? What?"

"I said I lost my money. All of it. What am I going to do now?"

"How much?"

"A few thousand," she said. "It was all I had."

"A few thousand. Peanuts."

Deck left Lori's side to inspect his bike. He was stroking it, almost like a lover, his fingertips lightly going over every inch.

"What are you doing?" Lori asked.

"At least the fire didn't scorch the paint," he said, examining his bike.

"Is that all? Your precious bike came out of this unscathed."

"Hey," he said, "do you know how much this thing set me back? More than a few thousand, I can assure you."

"Deck. I don't care about that. Do you hear me? I've lost my money! All of it! It doesn't matter if it was twenty bucks or twenty thousand or twenty million! It's gone! It's gone! What am I gonna do?"

Lori was still crying, hands covering her face, her body shaking.

She heard a car roll up and looked up to see the flashing lights of a patrol car. Deputy Jamie Hogg got out of the car.

"Well," said Deck, "here comes the cavalry. You're too late, Porky. Too damn late."

The interloper stood at the edge of the woods out of sight. In the purple shadows of the forest, his boot tapped a quickening beat. His fist beat the side of his thigh. He spit into the darkness. It had seemed like such a simple plan. Yet, he had failed.

His breath came in short spurts. The corners of his mouth shot downward, and his cheeks turned cherry red. He pounded his fists against a large granite monument that stood near a large pine tree. Every fiber in him wanted to shriek with anger, but they would hear, and he would be discovered. He should be ejaculating with joy on the gravestone.

The building was nothing but ashes. It had gone up in a blaze of glory. A wonderful firestorm that shot flames high into the indigo night sky. He was sure they would burn like fattened bacon in a hot skillet. How had escape been possible? How? How? How?

Yet, there they stood, casually talking with the deputy.

The sound of their voices floated toward the woods. It was impossible to make out what they were saying. He didn't care. He stormed off into the night so disappointed he could barely think.