Clearly scared, the punks obeyed.
“Get your eyes up and apologize to everyone here. And if you delay or object, you’re dealing with me whether you want to or not.”
“I’m very sorry for acting out,” the heavier one said without any hesitation.
“Yeah, I am too. I’m sorry,” the taller one added, rubbing his face afterward.
It was a confrontation few in the theater would ever forget.
“Alright, fellas…let’s go,” the manager said, wagging his radio toward the lobby.
“Nope,” Gage said, shaking his head.
The manager’s face ignited with recognition. “You’re going to make them watch the movie quietly, aren’t you?”
With an expression that might have been caused by a bad odor, Gage shook his head. He pointed to the fire exit at the front of the theater. “Where’s that lead?”
“To an alley behind the theater,” the manager answered.
“Alright, let’s go.”
After a bit of urging, the two punks sheepishly exited the row. Gage opened the fire exit door and shoved each punk out, one by one.
“Never come back,” he commanded. Then Gage told the manager to come get him if they showed themselves again.
The twenty or so audience members clapped and cheered.
After collecting his water, Gage dipped his head and sat one seat away from where the punks had sat. It took him 15 minutes to settle down. When he did, he enjoyed the film. Afterward, Gage didn’t want to deal with well-wishers. He slipped out of the theater, exiting through the same door he’d shoved the punks from after the incident.
It had been a good afternoon. Maybe he’d made the world a tiny bit better today.
He had no idea how his own world would soon change.
* * *
On the ride home from Fayetteville, Gage noticed the engine in his old pickup was skipping. It was possible that a spark plug or a plug wire had gone bad. Gage typically changed his own oil and rotated his tires, but when it came to ignition and more complex items, he trusted his truck with an Army buddy who had a small shop in Hope Mills. A glance at the odometer revealed that the old pickup was only a few thousand miles short of a quarter-million. While he’d certainly gotten his money’s worth out of this truck, he didn’t have the desire to invest in another.
Because he didn’t want to overstress the engine, he turned off the air conditioner and rolled the windows down. The fresh air felt better, anyway, as the rushing breeze was comfortable on this late fall day. Despite the warm spell, someone was burning a fire—perhaps burning off excess leaves or brush. The smell of wood smoke further enhanced the autumn feel of the afternoon.
Thanksgiving was only a few days away. Though the trees were almost fully barren of what had been beautiful fall colors, eastern North Carolina had been unseasonably warm for a week, with temperatures soaring into the low 80s each afternoon. On the local news this morning, the meteorologist had claimed the record high for this date was 84 degrees. She said there was a good chance of breaking it. Gage concurred. Fortunately, these temperatures lacked their typical summer humidity. It was supposed to cool down markedly the following week, with temperatures touching the freezing mark at night, climbing only into the 50s during the day. After a long, hot summer, he looked forward to the cooler weather.
Gage had no inkling of the frigid winter he would soon endure.
As he pulled around to the rear of Colonel Hunter’s property, he noticed a shiny silver Cadillac parked in the turnaround. The car was one of the newest models, sporting New York plates. Colonel Hunter’s truck was in its normal spot, along with Alice Hunter’s small SUV. It appeared they had a visitor.
Gage parked in the very rear at his cottage, which was nothing more than an old shipping container that had been converted to his living quarters a number of years ago. His dog Sheriff wasn’t in the cottage, meaning Colonel Hunter had him over at the house. This was typical. Hunter loved the dog as much as Gage did and peacefully battled for the canine’s affections.
In his cottage, Gage found a pound of ground beef in the freezer and placed it on the counter to defrost. He then made sure he had enough potatoes and a box of frozen broccoli. Simple dinner tonight—roasted vegetables and grilled meat patties.
Yum.
“Gage!” came the bellowing yell from across the yard.
Gage poked his head outside, seeing Colonel Hunter standing on his own back porch with Sheriff beside him. Sheriff sprinted across the yard and greeted Gage.
“Come over here, son. You’ve got a visitor.”
“I’ve got a visitor?” Gage asked. “Who?”
“Just come on,” Hunter said, calling to Sheriff.
Gage checked his charcoal supply, estimating that he had just enough to do a long roast of the potatoes followed by a quick grilling of the meat. He washed his hands and crossed the yard, the warm western sun blazing behind him. Again, Gage eyed the Cadillac, puzzled by who might be visiting him from New York. A mild spike of concern went through him—Gage’s identity provided a background from New York. The real Gage, born as Matthew Schoenfeld, was actually from Wisconsin. But that had been erased over 20 years ago.
Hunter wouldn’t be acting so casual if this was an official visit of some sort. And no one from the government would arrive in a Cadillac. Relax…
Gage smelled fresh coffee as soon as he entered the Hunter home. A host of voices could be heard from the front, coming from the old fashioned mint green room Alice called “the parlor.”
“In here,” Hunter said.
Gage stepped into the parlor,
