She must really be dead.He felt strange, a mixture of relief and sadness. He was glad she couldn't beat him up again, but he was sad because he had liked her more than any other woman he'd ever met.He looked up. The man behind the counter had reloaded the shotgun, and it was again aimed at him."Get back on that bench 'til the sheriff gets here," the man said.Loopy stepped back and sat heavily on the bench. He felt tired and resigned. He heard a siren approaching. They'd send him to prison for killing Irv and Joe Joe, and this son of a bitch would get off scot-free after blowing Elsie all to hell. It wasn't fair.A car with flashing blue lights skidded to a stop in front of the store, and two men in tan uniforms and Smokey the Bear hats came into the store, with guns drawn. They looked down at Elsie, and one of them said, "Aw shit." Who shot her?" the other one asked."I did," the man named Stevenson said. "I didn't want to, but she came at me." You couldn't have just slugged her or. I was cutting my grandmother’s small patches of lawn among her raised rock gardens. Only a hedge separated me from surreptitiously ogling Martha. She was alone in the back yard, with family all gone. She was lying a few feet from me on a folding chaise lounge. My sweaty body was pushing the hand mower and separated from my fantasy by only some low hedges. She wore a rather scandalous (for those days and that neighborhood) black bikini. She lay on her back with the top straps rolled down and the cups pulled as far off her breasts as possible for maximum exposure – though her nipples were covered. Looking back, I’m sure she knew I was watching her. During a pause in my work she opened her eyes and said hi. After pleasantries she asked me to come and chat. “Have a seat, Michael.” She said as she scooted to make room for me on the chair. I was grateful to sit because I had a raging hard-on in my shorts. “How are you Mrs., er Martha.” (Witty wasn’t I?). We chatted about things I no.
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