Tom’s microwave dinged and he removed his bowl of steaming leftover spaghetti to his desk, next to his diet ginger ale, paper towel, and plastic fork. Cindy chatted on the phone with her girlfriend and the radio behind them blared chatter between two fire units looking for an address. He pulled out a stack of building permits to review.
Tom grumbled at the firefighters on the radio, “Jesus, dudes, just look for smoke!”
He dug into the hot spaghetti, so hot he could barely keep it in his mouth. He breathed hard to cool it and Cindy said, “You okay over there?”
“Hot-hot!” He sloshed a drink of ginger ale around his wad of hot food just as a disheveled man in his early sixties walked in and strode to Tom’s desk.
“Tom?”
Cave Dave was one of Tom’s most stubborn homeless customers. Dave preferred the raw outdoors, but sometimes sought shelter in a barn or shed, and sometimes the owner didn’t like that. Cave Dave knew every officer in the county.
“Cave Dave?” Tom said and took another bite. “Hot!” He sluiced another wash of pop, swallowed and said, “To what do I owe this honor?”
Cave Dave said, “Bill stole my tarp.”
Tom thumbed the building permits, not really listening.
“Bill who?”
“Odd-Jobs Bill. Stole my tarp. Rain’s coming.”
Tom set his paperwork aside and Dave took a seat in a chair beside the desk. He always looked squirmy and uncomfortable indoors, even in a good chair.
Tom said, “Never knew Bill to steal before. What makes you think he stole your tarp?”
“He borrowed it for a job,” Dave said. “‘A quick job,’ he said. I been to his trailer place every day for two days. He’s gone. Truck’s gone. Bill stole my tarp.”
Tom’s interest perked right up.
“What job?”
“Something in the county,” Dave said. “Out on the bluff. Had to be done in two days and it’s two days. No Bill. No tarp. Therefore …”
“Therefore, maybe the job ran overtime and he’s still borrowing. Anything else missing at Bill’s besides your tarp and his truck?”
Dave shook his head. “Bill don’t have nothing to miss. He’s been missing water and electricity for about twenty years. Hauls barrels of water from his jobs. Showers in the boat haven with the yacht folks.”
“Did you look around inside his trailer?”
Dave cast a sideways look in case Tom was going cop on him. Tom waited.
“Okay, yeah. I took a little snooze on his couch while I waited. Short little couch. All his stuff’s there except my tarp. About five thousand moldy sci-fi books.”
“How long was that ‘little snooze,’ exactly?”
Dave folded his hands on the tabletop and looked at them.
“Okay. Two days.”
Tom sat up straight and pushed his food aside. “Didn’t come back at all?”
“He didn’t wake me up if he did.”
Tom slid his note pad and pen over and asked, “Where you holed up now, in case I find this disappearing tarp. At Bill’s?”
“Nah, too small, too indoory, too moldy in there.” Dave sneezed twice. “The Fogfarm. Gray’s letting me stay in his shop. It’s big but I’m getting cramped-feeling again, you know? Gotta be on the move pretty soon.”
Dave finally met Tom’s gaze, and Tom asked, “Think you’ll be on the move out of town this time, Dave?”
Dave shot him a sorrowful look. “Now, Tom, you know those sheriffs out there got no sense of humors. You-all treat me fair here in town, and you know I’m no trouble.”
Tom waved his stack of building permits at Dave.
“All these newcomers don’t know that, Dave. One of them’s liable to take a shot at you one of these days. I don’t want that, the paperwork’s a bitch. You don’t want that. Stay out at Gray’s, there’s woods out there.”
Dave stood and brushed the chair off behind him. “I’ll be at Gray’s until I get my tarp. Or until the rain’s back and I get work to buy another. Appreciate your time.”
Dave shook Tom’s hand and left. Tom stuck his fork into his spaghetti, then pushed it aside. He ran a hand through his hair, drummed his fingers on his desktop, then put on his hat and stood to go.
“Cindy, I’m going out to Odd-Job Bill’s to look around. I’ll be on portable.”
“That’s in the county,” Cindy said. “You running for sheriff now?”
“I know where the city limits are,” he said. “Like I said, I’ll be on portable.”
His hand was on the doorknob when Cindy said, “Did you forget? You have skateboarders in court in half an hour.”
“Shit!” Tom took off his hat, slammed it onto his desk and sat down.
“Well, don’t take it out on me,” Cindy said. “You’re the grouch who wrote the tickets.”