door called out its familiar screech again as Patrick and Caleb reappeared. Patrick handed the key back to Edgar. The man in the Penn State cap took a few steps back and stood behind Patrick and Caleb.
“Thanks, Edgar,” Patrick said. “How much do we owe you for the bait?”
Edgar took the key and looked behind father and son at the man in the Penn State cap. The man smirked at Edgar, put his index finger to his lips again, changed the shape of his hand into a gun, pointed it at Edgar, the back of Patrick’s head, and then the back of Caleb’s head, each point followed by an imaginary click from the hammer that was his thumb.
Edgar swallowed hard and went pale. His blood ran like ice water and he regretfully acknowledged his previous instincts about the stranger. Should he tell the father and son what was happening? Call the police? No. He was a good Christian. If this man did have a gun he could never live with himself if a father and child lost their lives because of some old fool like him. He wouldn’t say a word. He would let the father and child leave peacefully and pray that the stranger didn’t have plans for him once they’d gone.
“Edgar?” Patrick followed Edgar’s eyes over his shoulder towards the man in the Penn State cap.
“How are ya?” the man asked Patrick.
Patrick nodded. “Good thanks.” He looked up at the man’s hat. “You a Penn State fan?”
The man nodded once. “Die hard.”
“Good man,” Patrick said with a quick smile. He thought of Arty for a fleeting moment then quickly shook the thought away. He turned back to Edgar. “So how much, Edgar?”
Edgar said nothing. He was still a pasty white, his magnified eyes skirting and unsteady.
“Edgar, you okay?”
Edgar nodded weakly. “Fine,” he said, still avoiding eye contact with Patrick. “Something I ate earlier, I think.” He risked a quick look behind Patrick again. The strange man was laughing silently at his feeble excuse.
“Oh, okay,” Patrick said. “Maybe pop an Alka-Seltzer when we leave.”
Edgar nodded fast. “Yeah, good idea.”
Another moment of pause.
Patrick smiled. “So, are you going to tell me how much I owe you, Edgar?”
“On the house.”
Patrick frowned. “No, no, come on, Edgar, how much?”
Edgar risked one last peek over Patrick’s shoulder. The stranger shrugged back at Edgar, black eyes wide with amusement.
“Threevin,” Edgar said fast.
“What?”
Edgar cleared his throat. “Three even.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow, handed Edgar a five and said, “Keep the change.”
Edgar grunted a thanks and watched Patrick and Caleb leave through the screen door with their container of bait. He waited until their car pulled away before looking at the man in the Penn State cap. He swallowed and steadied his voice. “I have very little cash in the store, mister. But you’re welcome to all of it. Please…”
“Please what, Edgar?” the stranger said.
Edgar’s next words were a frightened whisper. “Please don’t shoot me.”
The stranger burst out laughing and rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Come on, Edgar, man-up! Has time shriveled away both your balls?”
The stranger reached over the counter and gently pulled Edgar’s cap of lures off his head. The thin hair beneath was gray and oily. Edgar didn’t dare move.
The stranger turned and flung Edgar’s hat to the floor. He then took his own hat off and scratched the shaved-bald head underneath.
“I was only having a bit of fun with you, Edgar. Just playing a little game. You like games, right?”
Edgar nodded, still rooted to the floor, still afraid to even breathe.
“How about Penn State? Are you a Penn State fan, Edgar?”
Edgar swallowed, his Adam’s apple pronounced like a thick knuckle.
The stranger leaned in and placed his blue Penn State cap over Edgar’s head. He left it there for a short moment, smiled, then yanked it down tight over the old man’s head causing him to pitch forward, his glasses falling with a clatter onto the countertop.
“You are now, right?”
Edgar’s voice was gone.
“Right?”
Edgar nodded quickly.
The stranger picked up Edgar’s glasses and put them on. “Whoa! Coke bottles!
You’re damn-near blind aren’t you?” He reached behind his back and withdrew a pistol, held it up in front of Edgar.
Edgar did have poor vision, but his bad eyes knew a gun when they saw one. He thought of his wife, long since gone, and knew he would be seeing her soon.
The stranger pointed the gun at Edgar and aimed it just over his head, targeting a wooden bass mounted on the wall behind him. “Hold still