sixteen

He had barely glanced at the Pelican Bay Crier when he was at work. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen poring over the local paper. But now he was home, and he could stare at the front page. He read the story, barely three paragraphs long, about Rayburn Gautier’s murder. “Possible murder.” He read it again, then gently set the paper down on the table. He noticed his hands shaking and that made him even angrier.

It was almost as if she knew how to enrage him, was throwing a gauntlet in his face. No headline, below the fold, the same size typeface as the hokey story about some old lady spotting a log and deciding it was an alligator. Only three paragraphs, “possible murder” according to the Chief of Police. No murders in this town for close to three years, and the ones before that had mostly been drunken brawls where the men killed were the kind only missed by drinking buddies, and even then it only took a few beers for the memory to fade to a worn story: “Guy that used to sit at that stool got killed in a fight, can’t remember his name.”

Rayburn Gautier was different, very different. He wanted it noticed.

He suddenly snatched up the paper and savagely ripped it in half. Then threw the torn pieces to the floor and walked over them, as if his feet were striking back at the sin of ignoring him.

“What does it take to get your attention, Nell McGraw?” he demanded out loud as he crossed again over the newsprint. “Next paper I want the top of the front page.”

What would be impossible for her to ignore? He stopped his pacing and retrieved the paper from the floor. His anger was passing and the untidiness of it bothered him. Holding the two pieces together, he again glanced at the front page, skimming over the other stories.

And then he knew how he would get her attention.