on Abbott’s, not once taking in the glass.
“I found these glass fragments in Richard English’s car,” Abbott continued, dividing the pile of glass in half with gentle fingers. “There was more masking tape there too, which would have been used to attach the larger bulb with the small one inside to the panel behind the brake pedal. The first thing you do when you get in a car is put on the brake, right? English gets in, shuts the door, stamps on the brake and, crunch, there go the bulbs.”
Hades said nothing. Abbott sat back and waited. On the highway beyond the horizon, an ambulance was wailing. It reminded Hades of the sad howling of dingoes. Hades felt his temple ticcing and wondered if Abbott could see it on his leathery skin.
“You know what Yperite is?”
Silence. Hades waited.
“Its common name is mustard gas,” Abbott said, leaning back in his chair. “You take synthesized ethylene, which you can extract from barbecue gas bottles, and you mix it with refined chlorine, which you find in pool-cleaning chemicals. Nasty stuff, mustard gas. You breathe it in deep enough it’ll make Swiss cheese of your lungs. Kill you in minutes, if it’s strong enough.”
“You’re saying someone mustard-gassed your friend English,” Hades sighed, letting his head loll to the side.
“Got it in one.” Abbott nodded. “Not only did they rig this ingenious method of delivery, they also snapped the inside handles off the doors of Richard’s car and jammed the windows shut. When he put his foot on the brake he got a lungful of one of the most deadly vapors ever made. If not for his quick thinking in turning the car on and ramming it forward, which broke the windshield, he’d be dead. Right now, they don’t know if he’s ever going to talk again. Burned a hole in his esophagus the size of a fifty-cent piece.”
“You got all this from glass fragments in a trash-filled car, some fucked-up doors and a busted window?” Hades shook his head slowly. “You oughta write penny mysteries.”
“Come on,” Abbott scoffed, “you know what your boy did, Hades.”
Hades had been smiling and looking at the floor, appreciating his own dry humor. Now his eyes widened and flicked to the man across the table. Abbott shifted a little in his chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“My boy?”
“Eric has been hounding us like a fucking dog for weeks. He plays with chemicals he finds around the dump all the time. Hades, you know he—”
“It’s Mister Archer to you, you little punk.” Hades panted, just once, feeling the air come hot and heavy against his tongue, thick with rage. “You’re saying my boy did this?”
“I—”
Abbott’s words faltered under Hades’ stare. The man stared at the table in front of him. In the bedroom, Hades could hear the children whispering, moving in their beds. He let the sound carry his mind away as he sat like a lion watching Abbott.
A generous silence lingered.
“You and English will receive your severance pay in the mail,” Hades said quietly. The sound of his voice made Abbott start. “I don’t recommend you come back here for your things.”
Abbott stood and Hades watched him rise. The glass sparkled on the tabletop in two distinct piles like shavings of ice. The younger man let the plastic bag settle on the chair he’d been sitting on and turned awkwardly towards the door. When he reached the threshold he turned back, seemed to consider something. Hades waited, tense.
“You’re going to have trouble with them,” the man said, his hand on the door. “They’re not right.”
Hades stood. Abbott disappeared. When he was gone, Hades released a breath and let his body succumb to the trembling that the rage insisted upon. He walked stiffly to the secret room, extracted two bundles of cash and stuffed them into envelopes, muttering to himself all the while. That would shut them up. Not that they had anything to say. No one was going to believe a story like that. And all
“I found these glass fragments in Richard English’s car,” Abbott continued, dividing the pile of glass in half with gentle fingers. “There was more masking tape there too, which would have been used to attach the larger bulb with the small one inside to the panel behind the brake pedal. The first thing you do when you get in a car is put on the brake, right? English gets in, shuts the door, stamps on the brake and, crunch, there go the bulbs.”
Hades said nothing. Abbott sat back and waited. On the highway beyond the horizon, an ambulance was wailing. It reminded Hades of the sad howling of dingoes. Hades felt his temple ticcing and wondered if Abbott could see it on his leathery skin.
“You know what Yperite is?”
Silence. Hades waited.
“Its common name is mustard gas,” Abbott said, leaning back in his chair. “You take synthesized ethylene, which you can extract from barbecue gas bottles, and you mix it with refined chlorine, which you find in pool-cleaning chemicals. Nasty stuff, mustard gas. You breathe it in deep enough it’ll make Swiss cheese of your lungs. Kill you in minutes, if it’s strong enough.”
“You’re saying someone mustard-gassed your friend English,” Hades sighed, letting his head loll to the side.
“Got it in one.” Abbott nodded. “Not only did they rig this ingenious method of delivery, they also snapped the inside handles off the doors of Richard’s car and jammed the windows shut. When he put his foot on the brake he got a lungful of one of the most deadly vapors ever made. If not for his quick thinking in turning the car on and ramming it forward, which broke the windshield, he’d be dead. Right now, they don’t know if he’s ever going to talk again. Burned a hole in his esophagus the size of a fifty-cent piece.”
“You got all this from glass fragments in a trash-filled car, some fucked-up doors and a busted window?” Hades shook his head slowly. “You oughta write penny mysteries.”
“Come on,” Abbott scoffed, “you know what your boy did, Hades.”
Hades had been smiling and looking at the floor, appreciating his own dry humor. Now his eyes widened and flicked to the man across the table. Abbott shifted a little in his chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“My boy?”
“Eric has been hounding us like a fucking dog for weeks. He plays with chemicals he finds around the dump all the time. Hades, you know he—”
“It’s Mister Archer to you, you little punk.” Hades panted, just once, feeling the air come hot and heavy against his tongue, thick with rage. “You’re saying my boy did this?”
“I—”
Abbott’s words faltered under Hades’ stare. The man stared at the table in front of him. In the bedroom, Hades could hear the children whispering, moving in their beds. He let the sound carry his mind away as he sat like a lion watching Abbott.
A generous silence lingered.
“You and English will receive your severance pay in the mail,” Hades said quietly. The sound of his voice made Abbott start. “I don’t recommend you come back here for your things.”
Abbott stood and Hades watched him rise. The glass sparkled on the tabletop in two distinct piles like shavings of ice. The younger man let the plastic bag settle on the chair he’d been sitting on and turned awkwardly towards the door. When he reached the threshold he turned back, seemed to consider something. Hades waited, tense.
“You’re going to have trouble with them,” the man said, his hand on the door. “They’re not right.”
Hades stood. Abbott disappeared. When he was gone, Hades released a breath and let his body succumb to the trembling that the rage insisted upon. He walked stiffly to the secret room, extracted two bundles of cash and stuffed them into envelopes, muttering to himself all the while. That would shut them up. Not that they had anything to say. No one was going to believe a story like that. And all
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